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An ode to my Arms

How a love letter to my body started the healing process...

There is power in words. You wouldn’t be on this site if you didn’t think that to be true. Words are healing. In the hands of the most capable their reach is endless. I’ve recently turned to words in order to bring awareness to my body. I have been writing myself love letters, specifically parts of my body I once loathed. It has been a source of therapy for me that, while unintended, has helped immensely in my development. Here is one of my letters, give it a try yourself.

  You and I have been through a lot, am I right? For most of my life you have been my arch nemesis. More than Justin Timberlake. You’re stubborn, never fitting in jackets the way I want no matter how hard I push. Youre picky, certain T-shirt’s on certain days (you’re such a bitch) And you’re masterful art of finding a way to chase off tank tops leaves me steaming Both literally and figuratively. You’re a bitch and I hate you. 

Well, I did. 

  You see, for so long you were the thing I couldn’t window dress. Arm spanx don’t exist and a girl is not wearing under armour or any variation of Captain America’s ensemble. The moment for nipping and tucking has passed because I’d rather look at a slideshow of old men in sandals an hour a day for the rest of my life than to I have another surgery. So awhile ago I decided to stop fighting you and start fighting with you. And looking back we’ve had so many winnable moments. You supported me when I did my first set of push ups successfully. You help me receive the comfort I need to move forward sometime. And your openness has inspired me to be conscious and willing in the face of doubt and despair. So where do I get off having such attitude? 

  I write this to apologize for my lack of patience and ill will against you. You’re easy to love and I know that now. We’ve also got a long road ahead of us so guess what, boo. You want a tank top this year, you got it. You want some ink, tell me where. And if you decide you wanna keep dancing after the rest of us has stopped, then you finish your 8 count as you see fit. 

I got you,

Nivlac

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