We live in a culture that is obsessed with bodies—and not in a good way.

There are so many mixed messages about our bodies: first, they are miraculous, amazing pieces of art, but we are made to feel disgust for what they produce. Digestion, elimination, and reproduction are normal human processes, but look at how many swear words we use that come from these functions! Next, we are supposed to look “beautiful,” but not look as if we try too hard to be beautiful. Yet even the most sought-after models are “retouched” and photo-edited to set an impossible-to-achieve beauty standard. And body shaming often begins in pre-school and follows us throughout our lifetimes. 

Even worse than all the messages our culture heaps upon us about our bodies, we often tell ourselves stories—stories that are anything but flattering—and we believe them. I’m sure I’m not alone in saying that if I spoke to another person the way I used to speak to my own body, I would be found guilty of systematic psychological abuse. Like so many women I know, most of my thoughts about my body were blaming and shaming rather than caring and nurturing.

A couple of years ago I recognized that my relationship with my body was completely dysfunctional, and I wanted to do something about it—but at first, I didn’t know what. Then one day I was looking at my hands, and it hit me: I love my hands! I started thinking of all the things my hands have done for me: grasping a hammer to build a deck; caressing a flower petal; swinging a softball bat; feeding wool into a spinning wheel; pressing the shutter of my camera; cradling my newborn babies, and so, so much more. My hands are strong, capable, nurturing, and creative. They are pretty miraculous!

As I gazed at my hands, I saw the scars and recalled the broken fingers and thought, “Wow! I have taken my hands for granted, neglected caring for them, injured them repeatedly, and yet, they do all this for me!” You don’t treat someone you love the way I had treated my hands. Right then and there, I picked up a journal and began to write a love letter to my hands.

It began, “Dear Hands, I love you.” I went on for several pages recalling the many wonderful and amazing things my hands had touched, witnessed, and created. I thought of the many pleasures I had experienced through my hands, and the ways my hands had connected with and served others. I then shifted into an apology for the times I had neglected caring for them or that I had allowed them to be injured. Finally, I vowed to stop taking them for granted and begin caring for them with lotion, massage, and manicures.

This one letter became a series of letters to different parts of my body written over a period of a few months. I started with the parts that are easier for me—hands, feet, and eyes—and as I gained momentum, I wrote to body parts with which my relationship was more…let’s just say…complex. Sometimes my letters were apologies, and other times, I forgave parts of my body that I thought had let me down.  But always, before writing the letter, I simply sat and contemplated—without judgement—the body part to which I would write. I gave it my full attention, as you would a lover. I gazed at it and opened my heart in lovingkindness.

Writing these letters released the shackles I had placed upon myself. My expectations for my body were often unrealistic, my self-talk bordering on cruelty. But when you gaze at your own body in wonder, you can’t continue to be hateful toward it. You realize that you love it, one part at a time. Writing the love letters allowed me to construct a new narrative, empowering me to begin, for the first time in my life, loving the body that is my partner through this journey.

I didn’t invent the idea of writing love letters to my body, and there are many examples on the internet. Dianne Bondy of Do You Yoga begins hers:

          Dear Body,

          I owe you an apology. I have been unfair to you, and at times even downright cruel.

          I have set you up for failure by asking you to do the impossible: to be perfect. For so long, I have held you up            against a standard of beauty that doesn’t truly exist. I have been mislead (sic) by the media and a culture                  that profits on self-hate while you, in all your love and beauty, have become the victim of my ignorance.

She goes on to thank her body for carrying her through this life and always being there for her, and she promises to show her body the love and respect it deserves.

Melissa Mitchem’s letter similarly apologizes to her body, especially for failing to listen to it. She says, “You’ve yelled at me several times but I have ignored you. Any pain that I have had was usually caused because I did not listen to what you were trying to tell me. You didn’t deserve that either. You were only trying to warn me.” She adds that she did, however, listen to the media: “I let the media make me believe that you weren’t beautiful. I let the media make me believe that my body would hinder my career and make me undesirable to a potential husband. I thought no one would find me attractive and I blamed you for that.” She apologizes, and then vows to allow herself to fall in love with her body.

Writing such a letter or series of letters may seem uncomfortable or even silly to some, but what if you did it anyway? What if you took a look at your body through the eyes of lovingkindness and expressed your appreciation for all that your body does for you? What if you cherished it as you would a child or a lover? What if you took the time to write it all down and send it to yourself? What would it feel like to read such a letter from the body’s perspective? 

I invite you, Dear Reader, to give it a try. It’s only time and paper and ink, but it could be the key to unlocking amazing potential that is locked inside your body right now. And then, please comment and encourage others to do the same.

Until next time,