To The Body That Stayed

Today,
I will not measure you
by the miles you couldn’t walk,
the dishes you couldn’t wash,
or the plans you couldn’t keep.

I will measure you
by quieter things.

By the heartbeat
that never asked for applause.

By the lungs
that remembered to breathe
through another wave of pain.

By the hands
that trembled
yet still reached
for hope.

For so long,
I treated you
like an enemy.

I scolded you
for breaking promises
you never made.

I called you unreliable,
fragile,
too much.

But the truth is,
you have never stopped trying.

Even when your joints
slipped from certainty,
when nerves became wildfire,
when exhaustion wrapped itself
around every hour,
you kept carrying me.

Not perfectly.

Just faithfully.

Perhaps compassion
isn’t asking you
to be stronger.

Perhaps it is sitting beside you
on the hardest days
and whispering,

“You don’t have to earn
your kindness.”

So today,
I will loosen
the grip of expectation.

I will trade criticism
for curiosity.

I will thank my legs
for every step,
even the shaky ones.

I will thank my hands
for holding a warm cup of tea.

I will thank my heart
for refusing to surrender.

I will thank the body
that has survived
more than anyone else can see.

This body
is not a failed version
of who I was meant to be.

It is a warrior
without a parade.

A home
weathered by relentless storms.

A map
covered in cracks
that still leads me
toward tomorrow.

And if all we accomplish today
is making it
from one sunrise
to one sunset,

then that
is enough.

Because healing
doesn’t always look
like getting better.

Sometimes,
healing is simply
choosing love
over blame,

gentleness
over resentment,

and placing a hand
over an aching heart
to say,

“I’m still with you.”

No matter what hurts.

No matter how long it lasts.

No matter how slowly we travel.

I will not abandon
the body
that has never abandoned me.