Learning to Love This Body

I am in a yin class when the teacher talks about how our habits and our ability come from our childhoods. She describes how easily her son gets into yin yoga poses, and how he will continue to do so the rest of his life. She describes how our bodies mimic the way our parents stood. I understand what she means. My body holds the same flexibility it did as a child. I can still wrap my leg behind my head, contort my body into different knots.

My body also holds onto the same fears and the same doubts.

My body is a battlefield. A war zone. It has been since I was 5 or 6, first diagnosed with lupus. It has been since I first noticed television and movies and magazines. It has been since I was first told what was fat and what was pretty. What was acceptable. What was appropriate for love and positive attention. It has been since I was told what I was allowed to do, and what I couldn't do. The way I was brought up, the way I was spoken to... It all dictates what I find right and wrong with my body. It dictates how I still hold fear and discomfort in my body. I don't know how to love this body. I don't know how to love my body.

I was always told I had to be very careful with my body. I couldn't be exposed to the sun. I shouldn't be outside too much. I shouldn't do a lot of things that I saw other kids do. I had to drink all these herbs, see all these doctors, try all these things that other kids never had to. Over time, it wasn't just that my bright red cheeks looked different from the other kids. It was that experience taught me I was not like the other kids. I was different. I was broken. My body became the point of differentiation. My body became my point of disappointment and betrayal. I was told and I learned that my broken body will always betray me. I don't know how to love my body. I was always told that a broken body cannot be loved. A broken body cannot be appreciated. A broken body simply cannot do. A broken body must be fixed. Hate my broken body.


Yoga is a love letter to my body. 

I am trying to learn how to love my body. I am really trying to learn how to trust my body. I don't think I realized that a big part of hating your body, is how we lose faith and trust in our bodies. I don't trust my body to do a lot of things. I don't trust that I will run without being short of breath. I don't trust that my body will not deteriorate with every passing year. I don't trust that my body will hold me in more complicated poses. I don't trust that my body will ever heal or feel better.

I started practicing yoga three and a half years ago. In the winter/spring of 2015. When I stepped into my first yoga class, I felt like I came home. All the years later, it still feels like coming home every time I step onto my mat. There is a lot to say about how yoga has been culturally appropriated. There is a lot to say about how yoga has lost as a spiritual practice; now only a physical exercise. There is a lot to say about yoga, but I am not the one to say anything. What I can say is that yoga is saving me. Through my practice, I am learning to be in this body. I am learning to play with and trust this body. I am learning how to feel safe in this body.

Yoga is a dialogue I am having with my body. It is the language I am learning in order to understand my body. To be able to engage in a conversation that makes sense, rather than further confuses, or talks over, or ends in an unresolvable argument. It is learning to breathe. It is learning to feel the expanding and hollowing effects of breath. It is learning to sit with myself. To be with myself, and only myself. It is so easy to be distracted but yoga makes you focus. Yoga gives me the opportunity to be with my body - whether it is painful or free. Yoga lets me dance with my body. We do not need to stay in perfect postures, balanced and unmoving. It is OK and welcomed to flow, to move and sway with gravity and uneasiness. I am allowed to be uncomfortable. I should stay with discomfort. Discomfort is not bad or evil; it is only discomfort.  Yoga has taught me that to be playful with my body. There are so many fun ways to move. I should allow my body to move. To flip upside down, to balance my whole body weight on my arms, to feel my body shake with strength. I should trust my body to hold me high. I should trust my body to recover when I fall. I should trust my body to be my home.

Three years and change of practice have brought strength and muscle into my body. My arms and thighs are more muscular. My back pain is manageable with regular practice. I continue to be very flexible. I can do breathwork. Meditating, although not a regular practice, is not torturous. But more than that, these years of practice have taught me how to deal with pain and uncomfortable moments. It has taught me how to breathe through the pain. It has taught me how to ground myself and how to seek help from all those around me. It has taught me how to better process fortune and loss. It is teaching me how to feel safe in my body.

I still have trouble with certain poses. I have trouble doing handstands, or wheel, or even doing chaturangas. I don't trust my body to hold me up when I am in these poses. I am convinced that my body will cave inward and I will fall. I am so close to the ground, but I am afraid I will fall. Yet I have been practicing for over three years. I am slowly but surely becoming stronger. I hold my body easier. I hold my strength longer. It is slowly but surely becoming easier to be in this body. I like seeing muscle build. I like seeing the definition. I like putting my body in poses where I genuinely fear, but I try anyway. I am trying to come home to my body.

Yoga is... Feeling safe in my body. It is coming home to my body. It is exploring and challenging my body. It is provoking fear and release in my body. It is movement. It is fulfilling. It is peaceful. It is dancing and having fun and playing. It is grounding, invigorating, provoking. It is so many things. It is one of my favourite places. My mat is one of my favourite places. It is something I never want out of my life. It is something I treasure. It is deep, deep practice and the most lighthearted fun. It is one of the best things I've ever come across. It continues to teach me something new almost every time I step onto my mat. It is my love letter. It is my open heart surgery. It is my anchor to the world.

I hate my body. I hate this body. I am learning to love my body. To love this body. This body is a place of war; a battlefield. It is land stripped and marked by all things horrendous. It is taunted and ridiculed and ashamed. It was never taught to love itself. I am trying to love my body. I am learning. I want to love my body. I want to love this body. Yoga is my love letter. I want to love my broken body. I want to appreciate this body. I want to love this body, doubts and fears and all. I want to hold and caress this body. I want to whisper promises and trail kisses. I want to come home to this body, and I want to make this body my home again. I really, really, really want to. I don't know if I've wanted something so much. I wamt my body back. I want my home back.

I hate this body. I don't want to.