Wednesday, July 18, 2012

A Love Letter To My Body

(Edited to add: This post was chosen and featured at

There is currently a synchroblog happening at where women are posting love letters to their bodies.  It's real, and it's raw, and it's gloriously bathed in hope.  Here's the thing about hope, it's got to be shared so it can roll big.      

So do it. Click on the link and read.  Cry with these women and sing anthems of hope with them too.  That's what I did, and I was happy to leave it at that.  But in the caverns of my heart I knew.  I knew that for it to mean something real and deep, I had to do it, too.  I told myself I didn't need to, that I'm not struggling like they are, really...

And then I stopped lying and got on with it.  So here it is. 

Dear Body,

You know our story is different.  We're not sure how, but we've mostly managed to evade the threads of self-loathing that seem to be woven into the fabric of the female being.   This heart of ours that pumps bloods through you and emotions through me, it rips a bit when we read of the hatred and disgust women have for their earthly shells.  And we wonder what umbrella kept this curse from raining on us.  Whatever it was made us one of those rare spectacles that actually believed in our beauty.  Through the bad glasses, the not-right haircuts, and the freshman fifteen (or, uh...twenty five), we remained obliviously, blessedly confident. via Danielle on Pinterest

We've got to know.  What is that umbrella that we held that made us believe in our beauty?  Because we want that umbrella for her, for the big beautiful baby girl that you pushed out of us.  We want that umbrella to lift her above the pit of comparison that will constantly snatch at her ankles and to shield her from drenching lies evil will pour on her.  We want her to always glow in her current four-year-old confidence that chimes, "My name is Ellie Grace Beautiful."  May she always know that she is beauty itself.      

And let's take a moment to be brutally honest and admit that right now we need to know for us.  Our thirtieth birthday is days away, and for some reason this birthday, unlike any other, makes you cringe.  I look at our face in the mirror and see crinkles for the first time.  And this belly of ours blossoms big with the third baby.  People wonder if we've swallowed a basketball.  Stretch marks spider across our skin.  Fear begins to weave its sticky web on the inside.  

Maybe the body of youth is gone forever.  Perhaps those pre-baby numbers on the scale are not to be seen again.  Perhaps this time when the milk runs dry, the breasts will be shrunken forever.  The crinkles will only grow deeper, the skin only sag lower.

Maybe we cringe at this birthday because in our mind it's the official goodbye to youth.  While we evade the curse of self-loathing, perhaps we still drink the lie that beauty and youth are inseparable.  

We grew up thriving under our umbrella, while those who suffered by starving and purging writhed in their lies and others shriveled in the desertlands of wishing they were other than themselves.   Will we now lose our grip and toss away the confidence to join the masses chasing the tails of youth?  

We've got to know.  What is our umbrella?  What made us believe that beauty is us?                     

Maybe it is your nineteen-year-old unwed mother deciding to leave you, the blob of cells, nestled in her womb.  You know this body, this life is a gift.  

Maybe it is growing up knowing the twinkle of your daddy's eye.  It was he who helped you first believe, "You are beautiful."   

Perhaps our umbrella is never knowing abuse.  Guys treated you with respect, never trying to take a piece of you to have for themselves. 
Maybe it is the sacred moment of unveiling on your wedding night and the words of wonder from your groom.  He made you the treasure worth waiting for. 

Maybe it was all of this, and oh, to wrap it all up and give it to every little girl that ever was.

But let's look even deeper and realize that all these are things that happened to you, circumstances outside of you.  These all helped you to believe, but they are not what made you beautiful.  For if what makes us beautiful is defined by our circumstances, then aren't we doomed?

For a man could ravage your body, cancer could steal your breasts, time could warp your bones.  And what then?  If beauty hangs outside of us, then it is there for the taking.  But if beauty is knit up in our soul, then it is only ever and eternally ours for the keeping or for the selling.  

Maybe it's not an umbrella to cling to at all.  Although there are days we forget and join in the toxic wishing, written on the flesh of our heart is the truth that beauty is the very dust of our being, gathered before time, breathed upon with holy kisses, made to mirror all that is glorious and good.   

Building dirts
If beauty is found in skin and scales, then let our thirtieth birthday be our official goodbye.  But if beauty is who we are made to be, then let's make an official welcome into the rest of our life.  Welcome all you wrinkles, stretch marks, and sags!  And welcome all that time will hand us.  You will be our beauty marks of a life lived full. 

Goodbye, youth.  You've been grand, but we are no longer you.

So my dear body, let's drop the fear and get on living with the confidence that comes from being ... beautiful.




  1. Beautiful post, Danielle! As someone who went kicking and screaming into her 30s, know it's not something to fear, but embrace. 30s are freedom. 30s are confidence. 30s are when you come into you. The you God had planned all along.

    Love you!

    1. Love the way you said that, Barb. Thanks! I'm excited for this new decade. :)