I decided to finally accept the lesson my body was teaching me all along.
I spent so many decades hating my hair. This wild untameable mane that never seemed to look like everybody else’s. It wasn’t smooth and sleek like every actress and model I saw. Nor did it have perfect curls like the beautiful women whose hair I admired. Mine has always been somewhere in between. Not quite straight, not quite curly, definitely not compliant.
And my body followed suit. Rejecting standard beauty measurements and often not responding quickly to any dietary or life changes meant to make my form mold and bend to my will. Always broad in some places, jiggly in others and just all wrong (according to my estimations).
I’ve been a pupil of many life lessons these past few years, but love of my own body always seemed to escape me. Sometimes I could manage appreciation or indifference, but never love…
I made it my focus these last months to love myself the way I wanted to be loved. I chose to speak kindly to my body, both internally and externally. Literally sizing myself up in the mirror and praising this body that carries me through the day.
And something clicked.
I get it now. I truly do.
I love my soft, stretchmarked stomach that grew to house three beautiful children, and makes the softest pillow for their heads.
I love my moles and freckled skin, that adorn my skin like a galaxy of stars. Pinpricks of contrast, bringing depth to my form.
I love my shape, not wrong, but just right. Bearing evidence of my journey in every muscle fiber, and soft corner.
And I truly love my hair. This lion mane that rejects all standards or expectations and reminds me it is safe to do the same. It is tailor made for my spirit and being, a crown of wild delight.