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Be Free

By
Morgan Harper Nichols

I saw myself in the mirror and for a brief moment, I loved what I saw.

Then instantly I corrected. No, don't like it, don't accept it. You need to eat healthier. You need to workout. Then, x pounds later, you can like it.

I loved my body, then instantly doubted that love. "Don't love that, then you won't take care of it."

Why was that my natural narrative? Why do I expect that loving my body means I won't do what's best for it? I'm all for discipline and doing the hard but good things in order to be healthy. But I'm not even a little bit for letting hatred, dislike, disappointment be how I'm supposed to feel toward my body.

I'm calling that moment of love a miracle. I loved my body in its ordinary, everyday state. This body of mine, that carries my pain, my fears, my shame. This female body--so often hated in word and deed.

It's a miracle for a woman to love her body, given the history of harassment, commodification, neglect, and overzealous assessment the female body holds in its history.

It's a miracle, the functioning of a human body. Completely outside of our control, our organs keep beating, pumping, digesting.

Comments

  1. MangoNovember 5, 2019 at 9:13 PM

    "It's a miracle for a woman to love her body, given the history of harassment, commodification, neglect, and overzealous assessment the female body holds in its history." Indeed, sister. And I'll take all the miracles I can get these days. Thanks for writing this.

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