A Letter to Your Body: Part 2 of 2

For many people living with disability our relationship with our bodies is complex. Writing a letter to it can be illuminating and healing.

DECEMBER PROMPT:

Write an open letter to your body.

Welcome to the second part of the December publication from our adaptive yoga community. We are so glad you are here! This month we asked our students to write a letter to their body. Letter writing is a sacred space for reflection and honesty, and these letters are a beautiful example of this. We hope you find them interesting. Perhaps you might feel inspired to write your own?… Please comment below, share with your friends, and subscribe so you never miss a publication. Thank you!

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This piece exists as a reminder to myself:

When I am stuck frantically searching my mind for the answer
to a situation I cannot control, my attention serves
me best when it moves into my body.

My body is where I need to be to create.
My body is where I need to be for peace to emerge.
My body is where I need to be to experience the world.

So, to my body,
Thank you for your patience as I remember and forget, and forget and remember how expansive life is with you in it.

Sophie

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Dear Body,

I really want to say how sorry I am for how I have treated you.
I really couldn’t do this without you.

I rarely say thank you to you. You always stand by me, adapting the way you do to keep me alive.

I haven’t made this easy for you, abusing you with alcohol, food - too much and too little, and working you so hard I make you ill.

I am trying my best to learn to treat you with the care and respect you deserve.
I really am a work in progress, so please be patient with me.

Once again I am sorry and thank you.
Amanda x

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Dearest Body,

When I was first presented with writing this letter I considered apologising to you for all the times I got it wrong. Then I realised that the time for I’m sorry has passed. I still get things wrong but we are in a different phase now. When I think back to our early years together, you were like a slightly embarrassing sibling that my parents insisted I take with me wherever I go. The other kids were running, jumping, climbing trees and having fun. My dear body you may be wise, determined and resourceful but you are not fun. I loved you but I wanted to leave you at home while I went to school. It seemed like a fair deal, that you would stay safe at home while I went out and had my adventures.

I bargained with you to just let me go for those six hours and then I would return, like Cinderella returning to her former life when the clock struck midnight. But you would not hear of it. You insisted that we must stay together. Realising that you wouldn’t grant me this wish I found more creative ways of leaving you. I escaped captivity through imagination, disassociation or numbing. I thought I was clever, that you would not notice my absences. However, like any disobedient child I began staying out way past curfew. I left for longer and longer periods of time. I broke many promises to you and so understandably you started to distrust me. Eventually you had enough and put your foot down. You began dictating when these absences would occur. I could not come and go as I pleased any longer. This change in rules felt unfair and unjust. Suddenly I was homeless, adrift and frightened.

So I tried hanging around on the front porch waiting to gain entry. Occasionally, I would get in through a cracked window or a loose floorboard but you would not allow me to stay too long. My visiting hours were restricted. When you did let me in, it was as though I was going back to a house that I had already sold. It felt strange and unfamiliar and like I did not live here any more. Thanks to my practice, I learned that we simply had to get reacquainted with each other. So I reluctantly kept to your new schedule. When I was allowed in, I would wander the hallways very slowly and carefully. I entered dark and dusty rooms that I had not been in for years. Over time Irecognised certain belongings that were strewn about the house. It was not as unfamiliar as I thought. I pulled back the curtains to let the light in. The place needed some work for sure, but I was coming home.

Now all this time later we are more comfortable with each other. For better or worse we know each other now. Like any housemates we don’t always like each other or get along but we navigate this living situation as best we can. We still have work to do but as the poet Maggie Smith says in her poem Good Bones, “This place could be beautiful right? We could make this place beautiful.”

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