The Love Dare: Writing a love letter to your body

I wrote a letter to my body once.

It was something suggested to me by my therapist – something I never in a million years thought I’d be able to finish. ​

It was a post written in the middle of as opposed to after the fact.​ I did not see myself as I wrote, but I prayed to find beauty in the body God gave me through every word.

It was soul-shattering.​

My plea for acceptance ​echoed against the lies repeating inside :: don’t let anyone near, don’t let anyone touch, don’t let anyone love.

It was the proverbial ice-pick for the glacier of hurt I kept inside.

Perhaps it’s fitting these words were thrown on a page in faith a little over a year ago. I’ve grown a lot these past few months – understanding and accepting and fighting for the personality and skin and space my body possesses.

(Please finish reading this post by Elora Nicole over HERE. And don’t forget to pre-order Emily’s new book, Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy, HERE.)

A poem for you

Please come home. Please come home.
Find the place where your feet know where to walk
And follow your own trail home.

Please come home. Please come home into your own body,
Your own vessel, your own earth.
Please come home into each and every cell,
And fully into the space that surrounds you.

Please come home. Please come home to trusting yourself,
And your instincts and your ways and your knowings,
And even the particular quirks of your personality.
Please come home. Please come home and once you are
firmly there,
Please stay awhile and come to a deep rest within.
Please treasure your home. Please love and embrace your home.
Please get a deep, deep sense of what it’s like to be truly home.

Please come home. Please come home.
And when you’re really, really ready,
And there’s a detectable urge on the outbreath, then please
come out.
Please come home and please come forward.
Please express who you are to us, and please trust us
To see you and hear you and touch you
And recognize you as best we can.

Please come home. Please come home and let us know
All the nooks and crannies that are calling to be seen.
Please come home, and let us know the More
That is there that wants to come out.

Please come home. Please come home.
For you belong here now. You belong among us.
Please inhabit your place fully so we can learn from you,
From your voice and your ways and your presence.

Please come home. Please come home.
And when you feel yourself home, please welcome us too,
For we too forget that we belong and are welcome,
And that we are called to express fully who we are.

Please come home. Please come home.
You and you and you and me.

Please come home. Please come home.
Thank you, Earth, for welcoming us.
And thank you touch of eyes and ears and skin,
Touch of love for welcoming us.

May we wake up and remember who we truly are.

Please come home.
Please come home.
Please come home.
by Jane Hooper, printed in The Wisdom Way of Knowing, by Cynthia Bourgeault

(check out my NEW book, releasing Mother’s Day 2013: Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy, co-written with Dr. Dena Cabrera, HERE.)

the curtain is torn (guest post by holly grantham)

I take my shower in a bathroom small
there is no vent so
the steam
it billows and rolls
about the space
the hot water
pricks
my skin
and it is at once
pain
and
pleasure
Here
in this private space
I practice
once again
the dance of
love
and
hate
I try
desperately
to scrub away the proof
of my erring ways
the fact that
I have lived on sugar and chocolate
for the last
seven days
And it is confusing
because the act of putting
hand to mouth
is supposed to be
sacred
but I seem to always
ruin it
It is the nakedness
I think
that hollers loud
The baring
wide open and needy
that
renders me
undone
And I murmur prayer words
but they get lost
in the rushing
and I can’t escape
my skin
ever
The water
it washes over
my shell
this casing that
houses my
soul
and
I know that it
is a temple
but I
don’t believe it
I shut off
the flowing cataract
stand silent
and
brooding
I step out
of that
confessional
the one
that sometimes
spins dizzy
and it happens
In that moment
the curtain
is
torn
in
two
and I stand
foot bare
on
holy ground
For
John baptized
in the desert places
and
even if there is still
sand between my toes
I can now speak
the tongue of
saints
(my beautiful poet-friend, Holly Grantham blogs at a lifetime of days)
*Chasing Silhouettes now only $10 at Amazon.com; also available at Amazon.ca, ChristianBook.com and Barnes and Noble.

the edited edition of myself (a poem by Starla)

Have the faith to love simply in your heart; do what needs doing in a loving way; notice one’s own folly; smile at the human situation. We are all weak. we are all human. If we were not, love would be unnecessary. In effect, we change when we realize our weakness without losing sight of the love that enfolds us.
by David Brazier

 

oh yes ..my folly

my weaknesses

part of being human

a love of sweets

and potatoes

the downfall of my belly guts

gaining me pounds

that no one sees but me

because “Oh your so tiny!”

and yet this insecurity a pot belly can give you is real

I have an aversion to exercise

and a love of all reading material

magazines

books

blogs

and eye candy like pinterest

This aversion doesn’t help my “so tiny feel”

But this isn’t only about frame and pounds

more about weak moments that creep

like worry and fear

of being useless

and invaluable

and generally overlooked

its more about shifted perspectives

to meet people pleasing

and then anger at those people

and then realizing they aren’t the one who moved

So I go to my center place of balance again

to the loving GOD  and seeing the me he  created 

and sharing that instead of the “ME” I think you want me to be

the edited edition of myself

Here’s to walking the rest of today in my own shoes !

(Starla blogs regularly here at Poet’s Prose)
*to purchase a copy of Emily’s new book, Chasing Silhouettes: How to help a loved one battling an eating disorder, please click here.