I’ve been thinking about my body a lot today.
I’ve been thinking about the way that my body has been changing, and my relationship with my body.
Today marks 11 years since I was first sexually violated, so perhaps it makes sense that my body has been on my mind;
even though the emotional, spiritual and mental aspects were, in the moment, more painful than the physical, when I reflect back it is clear that being violated tarnished my relationship with health, and what little confidence I had (I was 14 years old at the time) in my body.
Today I did a CrossFit class.
It was the most intense work out that I’ve ever done.
I’ve never had to pause mid-workout so frequently because I was pushing myself so hard.
And maybe today, I had some extra motivation because I know what happened 11 years ago, almost to the hour of being in that class.
Maybe I had some extra motivation because this past year has been dedicated to healing, and taking back my life.
When I was driving home, I found myself thinking about my body again.
About how two years ago, I’d never have stepped into the physical space of a gym because I thought that my body didn’t deserve to be there.
About how just a few hours ago, I did my max deadlift at 50 pounds heavier than I had been doing previously.
About how my body has been through a whole fucking lot of hurt, and some of that is my own fault, but that it’s still here, and it’s still mine.
I thought about how I used to never wear dresses that weren’t floor length, because I was ashamed of my big thighs.
I thought about how I used to always make sure my shirts had sleeves to hide my arms, and about how just last year when Brian and I got pictures done at the Marina, I strategically placed myself behind him in a picture of us fishing because I didn’t want my arms to show up.
I thought about how I would never tuck tops in, because only thin people deserved to show off their bodies.
And then I started thinking about how many times my arms have held up signs at Take Back The Nights and SlutWalks and political protests.
I started thinking about many counselling sessions my legs have taken me to and from. How many times they held me up when everything else was telling me to drop down.
My body has done a lot for me. And my body, as well as my relationship with my body, is still a work in progress. But today, for the first time, I looked at my body and was thankful for everything it has done for me.