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How the Pandemic Has Helped Change My View of My Body

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my body.

I’m forced to think about my body most days as it is; thinking about what it needs, where it hurts, why it’s acting in that way and what its problem is now I don’t have time for this etc. My body is a chronically ill body and its upkeep has to be factored into every move I make, every minute of every day. Keeping this carcass running on a daily basis is exhausting; it is a diva. My body demands from me and I am generally powerless to refuse its every whim. But unlike some notable diva’s throughout history, my body doesn’t demand a dressing room full of puppies, rare orchids, a crate of Special Brew or some such; it demands I lie down. It demands I cancel that plan. It demands I quite literally shut up shop for the day. It decides whether I do x, y or z and it is often impossible to argue with.

My body makes my legs cave under me, it exhausts me so I can’t get out of bed, it incapacitates me with stomach pain, it causes my hands to seize up, it crushes my head with so much discomfort I can’t open my eyes. Often all before breakfast! Hashtag blessed. I don’t say any of this for sympathy — but merely to express how much control my withering skeleton has over my life. Granted, within the last year, it’s been a positive jamboree for my demanding diva — doing absolutely nothing outside of a day’s home-working has allowed it time to wallow and begin its slow and steady route towards complete atrophy of mind, body and spirit.

I’ve been thinking about my body lately because things are beginning to open up post-lockdown, and the world is dipping its toe into some sort of normality. It’s a both frightening and exhilarating thought for someone who has been shielding for many, many months. During this past year, my body has been brought into sharp focus as it’s generally all my eyes can see on a daily basis. I’ve been grieving and lonely in between bursts of sporadic creativity and energy — my body has struggled to keep up with my ever changing state of mind. It struggled to be thrown around the kitchen when I danced in it, wondered what in the name of the lord was happening when I flung a hula hoop around it and creaked like a basement door when I forced it to attempt a sit up. For all of this and more, I find myself frustrated with it. I hate that it piles on the pounds (despite me actively feeding it yet another tiramisu), that it’s changed shape and that what was once toned is now condemned.

But as so many of us know, it can be very easy to hate your body. Much harder to love it, or even like it at times. So lately I’ve tried to resist the urge to be my own body’s biggest critic. God knows if anyone ever sees it naked there will be enough of that to come, amirite?! etc.

In the chronic illness community there is much talk of “advocating” for ourselves. This is a generally effective and less isolating way to share knowledge and take responsibility for our own health where we can. I’m absolutely not referring to quitting medication and living off tree bark or howling at the moon or whatever the latest trend is, but more taking an active and healthy interest in living well. So applying this to my body, I’m encouraging you as I am to attempt to become your body’s advocate. Or at the very least its friend. We are quite literally in it together, so my hating what I see in the mirror or berating it for its lack of performance is essentially fruitless. Much like my lockdown diet.

I’m trying to encourage myself to see what my body has overcome this year along with me — it’s kept me safe and well during an incredibly frightening time for the world. It allowed me to be gentle with it when its heart was shattered. It’s been deprived of hugs and human contact, but has kept me physically afloat when I’ve felt I might disappear. It has helped me view it in a new light, and to approach seeing it as powerful and strong rather than withered and weak. My body keeps me alive (and miraculously upright despite having a ludicrous rack), it challenges me to look at my lifestyle and do the best I can for it.

In the interests of self-care I am trying to see my body as not something to be constantly worked on or changed or “bettered,” but as a vessel through which I can feel good. I am going to actively dance with it, treat it to bubble baths and lasso it into gentle exercise when it feels like a block of unworkable clay. I’m not going to compare it to other bodies, especially those I see on the internet, because it is mine and mine alone. It has spent many years being probed and prodded, cut open and investigated and tolerated it all with only a few scars to show for it. It has been changed by time and experience, and so have I.

Getty image by Ponomariova_Maria

Originally published: April 19, 2021
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