An Open Letter to My Body

An Open Letter to My Body

You,

with your aching knees, and belly soft

soft from years of looking after everyone else,

I see you.

You’ve walked through more storms

than anyone knows.

You never gave in,

even when I begged you to.

I’ve called you names

I wouldn’t say to a stranger,

punished you with silence,

with too much,

or not enough.

Still,

you showed up.

Still,

you carried me.

I didn’t see your loyalty

until the mirror stopped lying

and showed me truth,

not numbers.

You’ve held secrets

beneath stretched skin,

the weight of grief,

the weight of survival,

the weight of love I gave away

and never got back.

And now?

I owe you better.

Not because time demands it,

but because

you deserved kindness

long before I knew how to give it.

So this is me,

not starting over,

but starting right.

No more battles,

no more shame,

just fuel,

just water,

just rest,

just thanks.

From here on,

I walk with you,

not against you.

You, my body,

you are not my apology,

you are my home,

and I’m staying.