A New Way Of Living In My Body

Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “I have compassion for these people; they have already been with me three days and have nothing to eat. I do not want to send them away hungry, or they may collapse on the way.”

—Matthew 15:32

It didn’t occur to me when I was younger that there was a way to live in my body, my too-big body, without shame and abuse. It seemed like it was my responsibility to punish it, and that if I were kind to it, that would have been sanctioning its disobedience. I believed that if I released the hatred and the pressure by an inch, it would expand, like cupcake batter puffing up and spilling over onto the pan.

What I wanted more than anything was to not have a body. This body that I dragged around had betrayed me so deeply, over and over, by having the audacity to be fat. I hated it, in the particular and venomous way you hate someone you used to love, someone who was supposed to be on your side and who was fighting against you.

After two decades of frustration and shame, these days I am less than hateful toward my body, and in shining moments, even quite kind to it. I work hard to see it less as this distant distinct shell, and more like a nice person that I might like to be friends with.