A letter to my body
Dear Body,
I know I haven’t always been kind to you.
I’ve cursed you through the pain,
blamed you for the plans we’ve lost,
begged you to be stronger,
to hurt less,
to give me back the life
we once knew.
I’ve called you broken,
fragile,
a burden I am forced to carry.
But today,
I want to say something different.
Thank you.
Thank you for holding on
when every nerve was screaming,
when every movement was a battle,
when simply existing
felt like more than we could bear.
Thank you for the mornings
you carried me through
when I didn’t know
how I would survive another day.
For the nights you endured
when the pain wouldn’t let us sleep,
when tears soaked the pillow
and hope felt impossibly far away.
Thank you for continuing
even when I was angry with you,
even when I mistook your exhaustion
for weakness,
your limitations
for failure.
I see now
that you have been fighting
a battle I cannot always see,
carrying burdens
I cannot simply put down.
And somehow,
despite everything,
you are still here.
Still breathing.
Still healing where you can.
Still finding ways
to carry me into tomorrow.
You have bent beneath the weight
of more than anyone should have to endure,
but you have never stopped trying.
And maybe strength
doesn’t always look like standing tall.
Maybe sometimes
it looks like lying in bed,
hurting everywhere,
with nothing left to give,
and still finding the courage
to face another sunrise.
So, dear Body,
I’m sorry for all the times
I saw only what you couldn’t do
instead of everything
you were fighting to keep doing.
I’m sorry I forgot
that you are suffering too.
You are not my enemy.
You are not my failure.
You are the home
that has sheltered me
through every storm,
even when your walls were cracking
and your foundation was shaking.
And though I wish
we didn’t have to fight so hard
just to make it through each day,
I am grateful
that you have never stopped
fighting for me.
I cannot promise
I will always love you.
But I promise
to try to be gentler with you.
To offer compassion
where I once offered criticism.
To recognize that resting
is not surrendering.
And to remember
that even on the days
when all we accomplish
is making it through,
that is still something
worth honoring.
Thank you, Body,
for every breath,
every heartbeat,
every painful, impossible day
you have carried me through.
You have never given up on me.
And I don’t want
to give up on you.
We are still here.
And after everything,
that is no small miracle.
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