I know it has been a long time since we’ve really talked. So here I am, writing this letter, hoping to bury the hatchet. The truth is, you are like my 1989 Toyota Camry: not much to look at, but you get me where I’m going. Now don’t be offended- I love my car. And you have to admit, the similarities are astonishing. You sort of peaked as well in 1989. Think about it. Puberty hit after that, and well, the less we say about that the better.
The exterior is a dull grey with scratches, and a little rust. Although I wouldn’t go so far as to say your complexion is grey, you are a bit pasty and splotched yourself. Speaking of complexion, what is up with having acne and wrinkles at the same time? Could you not make your mind to take the full leap into adulthood or what? Really. It’s embarrassing. Choose a side, for the love of pete.
But back to my car comparison…Despite a few mechanical problems over the years, my car has been extremely reliable. I could say the same for you. You work fine. However, you do have moments of embarrasing, um, gas leaks and digestion problems. However, they are never acute enough to stop me. Nope. They are, once again, simply embarrassing.
The station wagon also has a bulbous rear end. So do you, dear body! Despite my many attempts to slim you down (I know, I know, this part is my fault-emotional eating and what not) the spacious back area and middle seem to persist. I think it is time we just said it like it is. You are no Alfa Romeo, body. You are a station wagon.
Last but not least, body, I would like to say that as I appreciate having a reliable car, I appreciate you. The way you popped out those two beautiful girls was awe-inspiring. I won’t go as far as to say pain-free, but you cut it short, and for that I am forever indebted. Of course, I have a coral reef for a stomach and it looks like a forest is growing on my legs I have so many stretch marks, but I guess one can’t have everything in life. I also appreciate the fact that you rarely get sick and that you allow me to run as much as I do without breaking down. I know I have put a lot of mileage on you in the last few years, so thanks for still working.
In conclusion, I propose a truce with the following terms:
I vow to stop putting you down. I am sorry for all the mean jokes I have made at your expense. I will cease and desist immediately. I will try to sleep more and eat less oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. You are a station wagon not a mini-van. More green vegetables, more baths and maybe I’ll even do some stretching after my runs.
You, for your part, could work on the digestion issue. I would also appreciate it if you cut out the pimples. I am getting grey hair and wrinkles- I think it’s time the acne stops. And if possible, could you stop holding on to everything I eat? People are asking me if I am pregnant and it is a long winded to go through the explanation that I just went through here…Let it go, body, let it go. I know that you are hard wired to defend yourself against starvation, but trust me, we won’t starve.
What do you think? Can we begin the negotations?
Looking forward to hearing from you,
Me or yourself or….god this is confusing….
2 thoughts on “Letter to my Body-BlogHer essay”
Dear wire monkey mama, >>Thanks for the letter, but you really aren’t telling me anything you haven’t told me before.>>The pimples/grey hair combo are my little joke – I need to have some sort of relief after all this running without stretching you make me do.>>Speaking of running – you say your ass is bulbous, as if that is a bad thing. You continue to confuse the shapely gluteal muscles that have developed due to years of dedication to running with this thing called “fat” that you are obsessed with. Our ass is not fat. It’s shapely and muscley and powerful.>>I don’t know why you continue to confuse “fat” with “muscle”. Or how you fail to see our beautiful chiseled cheekbones – fat people don’t have cheekbones.>>Also, I hate to have to break this to you, but that excess skin around our middle? The stuff that you keep on calling fat which is not fat but actually stretched skin? It’s not going away. Unless you present me to a plastic surgeon. A cheaper solution would be to buy some girdles. (Yes, girdles. They suck that stuff in and make you look all pre-baby.) You can make us anorexic if you want to, but that belly skin is not going away. Please stop calling it fat. The only way to get rid of it is to cut it off, and frankly, I’m getting tired of you mislabeling “stretched skin” and “fat” and “muscle.”>>I want to work with you, but you are making this really difficult. I’m totally open to negotiate – if you are willing to accept that none of this is your “fault”. You are doing everything right. Stop beating up your brain – it’s my brain, too.>>Sincerely, >your body
Dear Body,>You wrote back! I want to know that I value your comments although I feel, like always, that you suffer from a minor case of denial.I am quite able to tell the difference between muscle and fat thank you veyr much. The former is hard while the latter is squishy. I know very well that the loose, flapping skin won’t go away without plastic surgery, however, I have noticed a certain ballooning effect of said loose, flapping skin in the last few years. It is the ballooning effect that I take issue with. However, I am sure we can come to an agreement if we keep the channels of communication open. Thanks again for responding,>The annoying voice inside your head (aka you)