Apology To My Body

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

—Psalm 139:14

I owe my body an apology. Technically, I owe my body thousands of apologies, for the thousands of times I’ve accused it, pushed it, pulled it, starved it, stuffed it, made fun of it, lied about it, hid it, hated it. But now I owe it another one, and I also owe it my gratitude.

I’m sorry for taking you for granted, for wishing you were different, and for abusing you because you looked different than I wanted you to. I’m sorry. Thank you for, despite my persecution, being strong and able in the most important way. Thank you for carrying and bearing and nourishing my son.

What bodies can do during childbirth will take your breath away. I am a scared, squeamish person who faints at the sight of blood, but if I could relive Henry’s birth every day, I would. It felt sacred and overwhelming and full of beauty and prayer. It silences all those voices that have been yelling at my body for years.

This body might not look like much, but it did what it came to do on that day, and for that, I am grateful, and I offer it my most sincere apologies.