After my therapist suggested that my body hadn’t actually failed me in my children’s births, I have been trying to practice gratitude for the things it has done done for me over these past 40 years.
I am grateful to my body for pushing through my own challenges at birth. I was born with collapsed lungs and spent days in an incubator as a newborn. One would never know. My lungs are strong and healthy, and I’m grateful for my body’s capacity to breathe easily.
My body has healed so many times in so many ways. From cuts, burns, illnesses, broken bones, sprains, and surgeries. It somehow mended after being cut open for surgeries, leaving only the faintest scars.
My body has tolerated so much at my own hands. 20 years of bulimia, longer with absurd obsessions with various diets that were not healthy. My teeth are relatively unscathed, I never suffered from reflux or heartburn even when I was forcing myself to vomit several times each day. I’m grateful to have come out relatively OK physically.
My body grew two people. Perfectly. They have all their limbs and toes; their organs function as they ought, and they can see colors and hear sounds. Their minds are brilliant. They came into this world in hard ways, but my body provided a safe space for them as long as it could. And then, it recovered from those terrible traumas.
I am stronger than I have ever been, and my body has risen to every weightlifting challenge presented. I love running sprints, with knees that can tolerate it. I have the normal aches and pains, but basically my body tolerates and excels in ways I rarely thank it for.
I am grateful for life, and I’m thankful for this body that allows me to live the life I have. Day 68.