My body is my own

My body feels more present these days. It feels aged, but in a good way. Some things make me feel old - picking up a box the wrong way throws my back out and I now take out insurance when booking flights. Gone are the days of sauntering out the door on 3 hours of sleep and not having drunk water for the past seven days. But my body feels like home. I’ve decorated it with words that I now dare to live by and images that make me laugh or smile or swoon. I’ve let the hair grow back even if it’s patchy. We’re partners now, my body and I. Most of the time. Sometimes it works against me - when I feed it too much dairy for instance, but we know. We know what we’re getting into. We take the hit together. I feel like it took me so long to realize the voice in my head was my own, and now I’ve discovered how many dialogues I can have within my own self. I’m not saying it’s always easy. But my body is my own these days. I take long bike rides and I feel my knees ache and my legs burn and my chest pang and I can’t help but smile at all these sensations. I push harder on the pedals and I feel the soft wind on my face and I scream lyrics and I feel in synch. My body is my own.

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