I'm sorry. There are so many things I feel I should apologize to you for. For 37 years you have been there for me, consistently. I have mistreated you, put you in dangerous situations, talked down to you, damaged you, shown ungratefulness, and considered permanently harming you. You have endured life and death, pain and pleasure, work and laziness.
I wish my first significant memory about you wasn't a bad one. I suppose in so many ways it set the stage for what was to come. I can honestly say to the best of my knowledge I never knew to have a negative thought about my body until it happened. It wasn't our fault, but it happened. I can understand why my dad brought me over to that house so often. He didn't have many friends with kids and so the ones he did he would bring me around on the weekends he had me. I remember so much about that house. The very steep staircase up to the kids' room, the porch with the iconic Little Tykes red and yellow car, and the shed where it happened. He was older than I. Not by a lot of years, but enough to know better. The shed was very dark but I remember the rusted corners of the doors let some light in. I could see through a break in the door the grass which was partially green and partially brown. I don't know how many weeks or months it went on for but it was a lot of the same. Touching. Forcing touch. Insertion. Being told that I couldn't tell anyone because anyone would hate me for finding out. He specifically and skillfully impressed upon me how my dad would hate me and think I was disgusting if he knew. I'm sorry that you went through that. I'm sorry that such a traumatic experience has robbed you too often of feeling relaxed, enjoyable, and at ease with great loves in your life. I'm sorry that 30 years later while being in a committed 12+ year relationship, you still have to fight back the pain and muscle memory of that rusty shed of horror.
As I increased in age, my insecurities grew as well. I never had a solid example of how to care for you. Like so many high schoolers I dealt with body image issues. I don't think it was much out of the norm, I suppressed much of the childhood trauma and just went on. I had boyfriends like most high schoolers do, but I never was too close to them. Initially, I abstained from physical sexual contact simply because of the trauma and fear -- and towards the end of my teens vowed to be celibate until marriage. I'm sorry that I didn't know to love you, and value you, and listen to you.
My dear body, I'm so sorry I put you in the other category. I would look at bodies around me, honoring them, a noting how mine was the other type. She was thin and fit, so I noted that made me thick and fat. My hair was coarse and red like fire... while the rest of the girls' sported perfectly blonde (and normal) blonde hair. I tried everything I could in high school to get a different color... I regret this now. I love my red hair <3
Thank you body for carrying 5 babies inside of you. Babies made in love. Babies that I loved before I knew them. Thank you for enduring the painful loss of the twins. It was our heartbreaking when it happened. I know you felt it too. I blamed you. I wondered what you did wrong. You created life. You are impossibly good at it too. You created and held Liam, Rory, and Charley.
Dear body thank you for enduring, even still today. Charlotte's birth was awful. But you kept her and me safe. Thank you. I remember that morning like it was yesterday. I've had hundreds of dreams about it. The doctors agreed that I should have her early. Psoriasis was new to me, I had never had skin problems before. But by the time I was 9 months pregnant, about 40% of my body was covered in a painful rash. Everything hurt, even water. That morning the plan was to have a scheduled c-section as I had with Aurora and I expected it to be pretty uneventful. Once on the table, it all happened so quickly. I started feeling more than the typical pinching and pulling of a c-section. I felt sharp warm pain at first. I cried out. And then all at once... I felt scalpels slicing me open. Later I would find out I had what they call a hot spot. A pocket or pockets that the anesthesia did not take. I suppose the whole event was only a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. I'd never felt such pain. I was writhing in pain, I remember saying "I don't understand what's happening. What's wrong". I knew that I was in danger when I looked up at the doctor and his face was white. Then, slowly and all at once I felt myself slipping. I knew I was about to pass out. Slowly the room was getting darker and darker and I was pretty sure that I was dying. There was yelling in the room, Doug held my hand and said it would be fine. He wasn't sure --- we both knew that. They called for the anesthesiologist who had just stepped out. And I woke up. They emergently had to put me under general anesthesia. My blood pressure dropped dangerously low making the anesthesia even more dangerous. I am told that it was a very difficult surgery because my body was still writhing in pain. The doctor had a very difficult time with my organs moving around and trying to close up. When I woke up the first thing I saw was a nurse saying something to me. I was confused. For a moment I forgot where I was. Then I didn't. My heart began racing. I couldn't breathe. I thought I lost another baby. Then I saw Doug. He was holding our baby the same way he held the other two. Looking down so proud and in so much awe. I am sorry that you had to go through that. I'm sorry that I cursed you for psoriasis. I'm sorry that I was angry and frustrated at you for not being able to have a typical delivery. You grew, protected, preserved, and delivered my sweet Charley Cat to me.
Dear body, I didn't think I had postpartum depression. I didn't think I had situational depression. I definitely didn't think that I had clinical depression. I was a happy person. Sure I'd been through some tough things but I was FINE. Fine. It's always fine. Maybe the biggest lie I've ever continuously told in my entire life is a four letter word. Fine. I'm sorry that I didn't get help at the first sign. You have been so kind, so consistent, so protective of me --- and when you needed help. When you needed to level things out I was too busy having a newborn and refusing to be one of those sad moms.
Dear body, your heart is still beating. Your lungs are still filling with air. And in so many ways, it's a miracle. We were both there when the anxiety came. We both were sitting in the shower, fully clothed begging God to let you just go. We both felt the pulse-raising, it getting warm and knowing you were about to struggle to breathe. I thought that the solution was to just disappear. I thought that you weren't strong enough to endure the pain, confusion, and anxiety. But you were strong enough. You knew what my mind couldn't grasp: I need to be here breathing. Thank you for taking over always when I don't think I can do it.
Dear body, I'm sorry for the times when I randomly would go off my medications because I had been feeling better and assumed I was "cured". I'm sorry I made you go on and off a very strong drug that was coupled with terrible side effects in getting reacclimated. I'm sorry for the exhaustion, lack of appetite, teeth chattering, shaking limbs, and yawns. I'm sorry that I made you feel so weak you could barely move just because I didn't want to take the medicine that I knew helped me.
Dear body, I have talked badly about you inside and out. I have doubted you, made fun of you, and been ashamed of you. I have let others determine your worth. I have led myself to believe full heartedly that you weren't beautiful because you were different. Larger. More sensitive. Pale. I am waving a white flag.
I am waving a white flag. I am waving a white flag. I am waving a white flag. I am waving a white flag.
I want to support you. I want to lift you up. I want to see you as beautiful. smart. kind. lovely. I want to be thankful for you. To love you more than any other.
Dear body, I vow to nourish you. I vow to try to love every cell of you. I vow to not stop until I do. I vow to not allow the opinions of others to dictate my thoughts and actions. You are beautiful. You are strong. You are smart. You are considerate. You are lovely. You are sexy. You are everything you need to be.
Dear body --- I chose to be radical. I choose to be radical and love you and accept you in a world that is telling me to do anything different. I choose this path.
It's funny how life works out. I was all set to get weight loss surgery. I am still a big fan of it and hope if it's still the best option for me when the timing is right then I will consider it again. But life is funny because just before I was going to have surgery it had to be canceled for reasons outside of my control. Is it a coincidence? Maybe. But in the very deep parts of me, there is something telling me that I wasn't allowed to get the surgery done yet because I didn't love and respect the body I have. I believe that I need to learn to love, and like the body I have.
So, I don't exactly know how I'll get there. I don't know what the plan is. But I know I must.
thank you for everything you've done for me, everything you are doing for me, and everything you will do for me. <3
Ashlee
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