Love Letter to my Body

(The original letter was written in April 2019, this is an adaptation)

The human body is the ultimate design of form and function, 100% aligned with nature, plugged into creation, and, like it or not, a slave to the rhythm of time. It’s a limited-time offer, this body. Mortality is baked in from day one. And yet, this mortal shell houses the most glorious range of souls bold, gentle, wounded, wild, in every shape, shade, and size.

My body? She’s the part of me that’s always out front. The billboard. The headline act. She drew eyes once, too many and not always the right kind. These days, cloaked in modest black, she’s out of view to the casual passerby.

But she’s also the part I’ve taken most for granted, ignored, underestimated, even abandoned at times.

Now, six months from the big 60, I find myself in awe of her again, but the marvel has shifted. The surface still holds its curious reflections: the soft pull of sagging skin, the constellation of stretch marks across hips and thighs, the quiet dignity of wrinkles earned. I still occasionally hoist my jowls in the mirror, just to remember what once was. But my gaze has moved inward.

Now, I marvel not at what the world once wanted from her, but what she has given me. The miracles beneath the skin: the quiet labour of organs, the secrets whispered by cholesterol levels and blood pressure readings, the daily negotiations between estrogen and willpower. These are the new love notes I read, between lab reports and laugh lines.

For the first time, I’m ready to begin a proper love affair with my body. Not a fling. Not a New Year’s resolution. But the real thing. So this is my letter. My apology. My vow.

Dear Body,
We’ve been through a lot, you and I. Nearly six decades of the Love-Hate and Cha-Cha-Cha. I’ve praised you, starved you, flaunted you, hidden you. Blamed you for things that weren’t your fault. Took credit for your beauty and punished you for your so-called failings.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t kind.

But you’ve never stopped showing up for me. You, dear Body, have soldiered on through stress, grief, joy, burnout, a lost baby, hormones in freefall, and some truly questionable late-night snacks. Through it all, you’ve stayed. You’ve carried me.

And you’ve been patient while MIND ran the show like a petulant child, loud and insatiable. And while SPIRIT went chasing enlightenment like a moth to every flame. You, Body, the faithful middle child, kept everything working and flowing… digesting and detoxing and breathing.

I used to ignore your whispers. But now, they’re turning into full-throated declarations:

FEED ME! (Knowledge! Yes! But also magnesium, moringa and omega 3!)
SHOW ME! (Desire! Connection! But also a bone density scan and a colonoscopy, please.)
GIVE ME! (More love, more movement, fewer ultra-processed foods or existential crises.)

Now the metrics are different. My watch reminds me to breathe. My bloodwork tells its own story. And you, overworked, underhydrated, occasionally doused in Tiger Balm, you keep going.

You’ve even forgiven me for once thinking you betrayed me. For grieving a womb that wouldn’t carry and blaming you. For the dark days of rage and yearning when I begged:

O cruel world,
Destroyer of dreams
Hear me call to you:
Give life where emptiness lives,
And heal my womb so life can begin.

And still, you carried me.

 My Promise to you…

This time, I make a different vow. I will honour you, not just with spa days and salads, but with real, deliberate care:

Sun: I’ll no longer roast you like a marshmallow. I’ll slather on SPF 60 and wear that fabulous wide-brimmed hat with attitude.
Sea: I’ll swim in you, not just lounge beside you. Each stroke, a thank-you.
Sand: I’ll walk barefoot and free, each step a grounding.
Sustenance: I’ll feed you food that loves you back. Yes to leafy greens. No to pringles and pizza all the time.

Self-Care – I’ll treat that estrogen deficit like the diva it is. I'll chase strength, not size. Listen more, punish less.

All I ask in return, dear Body, is that you carry me into the next decade with just enough flair to make my 60’s fabulous. With dignity and vitality so I can keep dancing till the wheels come off. With grace and plenty of mischief too.

You’ve always deserved better.
Now I’ve got you girl… for reals this time.

Love always,

ImagiNari

xoxo