My Body- hate this title, need to think of a different one

I want to acknowledge that you are a gift from God—precious, intentional, created with purpose, and made in His image. You have a purpose, a goal, and meaning. You are not an object, or something separate from me. You are a part of me, and you deserve to be treated with love, dignity, compassion, and respect.

I acknowledge the ways I have used and abused you. I have treated you as an object rather than a part of myself. I have abandoned you, neglected you, and failed to recognize your worth.

I have poisoned you and pushed you beyond your limits, sometimes until you were injured. I have tried to control you, judged you, compared you to others, isolated you, and caused you pain. I have cut you, stabbed you, and burned you. I have placed rigid rules and unrealistic expectations on you. I have put you in danger, sold you, and allowed others to use and abuse you. I have damaged you by pouring pills and alcohol into you to get by. I have hated you, betrayed you, and broken you.

I am beginning to understand that our relationship has been shaped by lies, comparisons, insecurities, trauma, abuse, shame, and the words and actions of others. I recognize that much of the pain between us has not come from you, but from the hurt, fear, and experiences I have carried. You have often been the place where that pain has landed, even when you were never the cause of it.

I realize there have been times when I have struggled to listen to you—to recognize when you were hungry, when you were in danger, when something felt wrong, or when you were trying to tell me that you needed care. Instead of listening, I have blamed you, ignored your warnings, and put you in harm's way. I have silenced your needs rather than trying to understand them.

I want to learn how to listen to you again. I want to better understand the ways you communicate with me through sensations, hunger, fullness, discomfort, pain, and other signals. I want to become curious about what you are telling me instead of immediately judging, fearing, or trying to change what I feel.

I also want to acknowledge the many gifts you have given me.

Thank you for allowing me to think for myself, make decisions, serve others, and care for the people I love. Thank you for allowing me to experience comfort through hugs, loving touch, and the gentle touch of my mom. Thank you for the gift of physical connection and the ability to protect myself and others.

Thank you for allowing me to walk, talk, feel, think, squeeze, move, and heal. Thank you for the ability to wiggle my toes, use my limbs, play sports, create art, ride horses, and experience the world around me. Thank you for giving me the ability to express myself, experience joy, and participate in the things that make life meaningful.

Thank you for my heart, which allows me to care deeply for others. Thank you for my internal organs, which work tirelessly in ways I may never fully understand. Thank you for the countless things you do every moment to sustain my life, often without my awareness or appreciation.

You have carried me through so much. Even when I have not treated you with kindness, you have continued to work, adapt, protect, and sustain me. I am beginning to recognize that you have been doing your best to care for me, even when I have struggled to care for you.

Something I want to stop expecting of you is perfection. I want to stop demanding a perfect weight, a perfect size, or a particular appearance before I allow myself to appreciate you. I do not want your worth to depend on how you look, how others perceive you, or how closely you meet unrealistic standards. You do not have to earn my love by changing your shape or becoming something you were never meant to be.

Something I want to give you more permission to experience is freedom. I want you to experience sensations without shame, curiosity without fear, and thoughts without immediate judgment. I want to allow food to become a source of nourishment, enjoyment, and connection rather than a constant battle. I want eating and experiencing different foods to become more peaceful, pleasurable, and fun.

I want to practice listening when you need nourishment, when you are sending me warnings, and when you need me to show up for you. I want to respond with patience rather than punishment, compassion rather than criticism, and care rather than control. I want to learn that caring for you does not require me to understand every sensation or have an immediate solution for every discomfort.

My hope is that we can build a relationship that feels natural, balanced, positive, personal, and connected. I want our relationship to be rooted in trust rather than fear, acceptance rather than shame, and partnership rather than opposition. I want to stop treating you as something I must fight against and begin recognizing you as a part of me that deserves to be heard, protected, and loved.

I can begin caring for you differently by protecting and nourishing you. I can offer you food, water, rest, movement, safety, and gentleness. I can pay attention to your needs and allow myself to seek help when you need more care than I know how to provide. I can practice speaking to you with kindness, even on the days when acceptance feels difficult.

I understand that I may not always understand you, agree with you, or feel comfortable living in you. There may be moments when sensations feel overwhelming, when pain brings frustration, or when old thoughts and judgments return. When those moments come, I hope I can pause and sit with what I am feeling instead of immediately reacting against you. I hope I can meet discomfort with curiosity, acknowledge my emotions without condemning you, and find meaning in the process of reconnecting with myself.

I know that rebuilding trust will take time. I do not have to repair everything at once, and I do not have to be perfect in order to begin again. I can take small steps toward treating you differently, choosing compassion even when old habits feel familiar. I can acknowledge the harm without allowing shame to define our future. I can learn to forgive myself while taking responsibility for the ways I care for you moving forward.

As I move forward, I want you to know that I am thankful for you. I am grateful for the ways you function to keep me alive, for the work you do that I can see, and for the countless processes happening within you that I may never fully comprehend. I am grateful that you allow me to live, connect, create, serve, love, and experience the world God has given me.

You are not merely something I have to manage, fix, or control. You are a gift entrusted to my care. You are part of God's creation, made with purpose and worthy of dignity, compassion, and respect.

I am sorry for the ways I have hurt you. I am grateful for the ways you have carried me. And I am willing to begin again.

I hope is that, moving forward, we can learn to live in partnership—with greater trust, deeper understanding, gentleness, nourishment, and love.

You are my body. You are a part of me. And I want to learn how to care for you as the gift you have always been.