I am learning the importance of being kind to myself. Two decades is proving long enough to make me realize that nobody will ever teach me how to apologize to my body, for all it’s imperfection.
I consciously invested over 20 years shrinking myself, exaggerating myself, playing too small, going too big, ‘toning’ it down and settling for what my shame could possibly consider acceptable.
I listened, I listened so carefully to what my remorse considered good and acceptable. I listened closely to everything but my need to simply love me.
I mastered the art of being ashamed of every inch of me, and for the most part it pleased me – the level of regret and disgust I found in just being me.
Oh, I was so sorry! So sorry for just being covered in all of me.
It’s exhausting, you know… feeling sorry, all the time and about everything that I shouldn’t have to change or apologize for.
It’s exhausting, sickening and toxic.
Self-hate eats away at your existence, you become a mere shadow of what not to be.
You know how people say your body is a temple? It’s true, it has to be.
There has to be a God.
There has to be a sanctuary somewhere deep in that thick dark stench of unsolicited soppy sorrys…
Because somewhere in there I found a quietly confident apology.
It said sorry for being so sorry, but this is who I am, this is all I want and this is all I’ve got. It said sorry, but I am what I am.