Mar 26, 20224 min read

Dear Body

First, I feel as though I should apologize for all the times I was critical of you for silly reasons. You were only trying to keep me alive and comfortable. I want you to know that I’m working on that. I’m learning that you, my body, are not an apology. So many of the things I’ve felt the urge to apologize for are in fact not real issues at all. I’m learning to question the urges. When did I learn that bodies were supposed to look and operate in specific ways? Who taught me that? Who does it serve? When did I learn that my body was for others’ pleasure before my own? While trying to remain curious, it’s easier when you are fed, rested, and calm. Along the path of discovery, I must stay aware of taking these answers too personally. The fury of anger feels like a familiar friend, but that friend is slipping poison into my morning coffee while cheering me on. Anger feels strong, but it’s centered on weakness. I’m choosing curious. Curiosity is playful like a small child and gives no weight to what it finds.

Today I chose to challenge myself. I prepared myself to stay curious. I love to take photographs, and I love to create beautiful pictures, but today I capture you, my body, and not to create a beautiful picture. Today, I am giving you permission to exist just as you are. As a concept, this feels easy. I prepare by feeding you first. Some oatmeal is good, I add in all the things I know you need. I hydrate you and move you to joyful music. I shower and rub lotion all over you, careful not to spend too much time examining you. No, no make-up today and no styling. It’s delightful how much time is saved by skipping this step.

Wearing only a robe, the camera is set up and I began to position you in front of its lens. The robe is removed and I’m noticing the ways I want to hide you. The longer the hair, the easier to hide. Interesting, I thought the squirmy uncomfortable feelings would be focused on make-up, but I don’t miss skipping that step. It’s the hair. I imagine it as a brightly colored banner drawing any views away, away from you, my body. Interesting. I stay curious and put the hair up. It takes a little bit to get into a rhythm and to find angles that seem interesting. I begin to forget that you’re bare. The temperature in the house helps. I start to forget about you all together and get excited about shapes and light.

I’m excited to get my newly created images onto the computer but using my desire to have a finished selection helps me speed passed the need to do any editing. However, there’s that squirmy feeling again. It is difficult to not edit these images when thinking about posting them…online. That’s the whole point though. The only purpose in sharing is to inspire others to be curious about themselves as well. I remind myself that texture is ok. I know that you, my body, are covered in little moles and freckles, this isn’t new news to me, how am I still surprised? I find myself picturing random individuals who follow my photography online and wondering what will shock them, what will be too much, or too little in their eyes.

Well, here we are body. Although I still feel pretty vulnerable, I realize other ways I may need to stay curious. Detachment…I’m really good at the detachment. Detachment feels like a warm bed to lay in when things feel overwhelming. Detachment doesn’t give me a new list of things to apologize for. Detachment isn’t too loud, too emotional, or too crazy. Detachment is easy and familiar. The only real problem with detachment is that it is double-sided. Emotional detachment means no connection, no acceptance, and no joy. It turns out detachment will starve me of what I need emotionally. I learned emotional detachment first, but I quickly applied this to you, my body. Detachment is comfortable and I know, body, that you only want me to feel comfortable at home in you and that the times I felt like you were my prison wasn’t anything that you did. I’ve treated you as if you were the culprit of violations and you only offered me comfort.

Finally, I want to thank you, body. Thank you for being strong and swift, you’ve brought me to many a mountain top, that allowed me to find joy in the view, the wind in my hair, and the sun on my face. Thank you for the ability to lift a kayak and a cooler, which has given me so much inner peace floating down a river enjoying a fresh cold beverage. Thank you for your soft and squishy parts that add some padding and have allowed for so many loving hugs and embraces. Thank you for the arms to wrap around and snuggle with my favorite person. Thank you for this butt and all the joy it’s given me being able to shake it to the rhythm.

There’s so much more to learn through you, body and I hope to stay curious and question my desire to detach from you. You are my home on this planet and I promise to start treating you like a castle, rather than a prison.