A person stands with their back facing the camera and their arms above their head as if in dance. They stand in a field of wheat or brown grasses with a gray sky overhead.

By. Je'Niece McCullough

Dear Body of Mine,

I owe you an apology. I have not liked you. I have spoken of you and to you in the most unkind ways. I’ve called you horrible names like fat and ugly. I’ve compared you to others and found that you failed to measure up. I’ve wished you were something you were not. And I blamed you each time I felt you failed me. I actually felt like you were a curse to me. In short, I have hated you.

You may wonder why I have hated you and abused you. I could pontificate about all of the underlying psychological issues and social conditioning that I may have and have possibly been exposed to. However, the simple truth is that I’ve never thought you were good enough. Why did I think that? Well, l must admit the simple truth is that I have never liked the way you looked. In the beginning, you were skinny. Too skinny. And remember, this wasn’t during the time that it was cool to be skinny. I felt that you subjected me to teasing and taunts from others. Laughter filled advice about eating sammiches were painfully abundant for me–despite the fact that I did, in fact, eat many sammiches and more. Yet, you weren’t filling out any time soon.

It would be many years later when you would begin to fill out. I would be about 24 years of age. Yet the problem with that is that you didn’t fill out the way I wanted you to. You didn’t give me the curves I wanted. You didn’t fill out to create the hour-glass physique I so desperately coveted. No, there would be no Tocarra Jones’ body for me. You chose to keep your athletic physique. But you didn’t even have the decency to give me the Serena Williams athletic body. You gave me some strange mix of a straight body with a tire around my waist I hated you for that. I saw you as an even bigger failure each time I saw another woman with an hourglass frame/ Why can’t you look like her? I’d lament. You never answered me. You instead called for me to love you as you were, and I refused.

Then came what I felt was the ultimate betrayal. Pregnancy. After the birth of The Fizzle, you developed stretch marks in places where I never wanted, never even realized could develop. You began to bulge and droop in places that I didn’t think were meant to bulge and droop. And let’s not even talk about what you did to my stomach. I worked out throughout my pregnancy to combat such changes, yet, it was all for naught. You still did what you wanted, and you didn’t even have the courtesy to return to your pre-pregnancy state. You opted instead to give me the dreaded C-section pooch. It was hard enough tolerating you before. Now how was I supposed to appreciate you? I swore I would never forgive you. And I didn’t. Until now.

Now here we are, 10 years post pregnancy. I’ve since accepted that the pre-pregnancy body is NEVER returning. And while I don’t like it (not one bit), I realize how cruel and superficial I have been. I have treated you as if you’re good for nothing more than an aesthetically pleasing accessory. How wrong I have been! You are so much more than that. You have carried me through this world. You brought forth life, which is miraculous and wonderful. Thanks to yoga, I now know you can do some amazing things I never thought possible. You are the vessel through which this soul of mine wanders through Earth. You lend your hands to help others. Even more, you use your hands to pull yourself up when you fall down. You love me so much that you will pad yourself to protect me when I am wounded or scared. I have finally realized that your worth doesn’t lie in what you look like. Isn’t that a trip? I’d have a fit if someone deemed me less than worthy based on my appearance, yet that’s exactly how I judged myself. I have no excuses or any justifiable reasons for my ill behavior. All I can say is that I was ignorant and immature. I didn’t know. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t know. I’m sorry for the way I have treated you. But since I am not big on sorry’s or words without action, I’ll allow my actions to show you how I have changed. As my Daddy used to say, I can show you better than I can tell you. I’ll affirm you when I look at you instead of cursing you. I’ll reframe your so-called flaws. Where I once saw failure, I’ll see life and splendor. I won’t compare you to anyone. I’ll appreciate you for who you are. I’ll feed you well and move you so that you’re as fit and healthy as you can be. And while I have never actually said this to you before, please allow me to close this simply by saying I love you.

Je’Niece is a mother, daughter, writer, speaker and doula. She is also the only child of the legendary Bernie Mac. Born and raised on the southside of Chicago, she holds a Masters in Mental Health Psychology and has a heart for inspiring others to be their best selves by sharing her life experiences because she believes there is power in speaking our truths.

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An Open Letter to My Body