Today, somewhere between my shoulders being kneaded like sourdough and the masseuse whispering “just relax,” a single thought popped into my head…She is massaging my perfections. Not my imperfections….my perfections.
The irony of that almost made me crack up right there on the table. If I’m being honest, I’ve spent the better part of my adult life admiring the “perfections” of everyone else while tearing mine apart. I have scrutinized my own body with a level of intensity that really should’ve been reserved for important things, like reading restaurant menus or hunting for lost Amazon packages.
For years, I didn’t understand, much less appreciate, the sheer magnitude of what this body has carried me through. I didn’t honor the places it’s taken me, the storms it survived, or the pain it endured that only I felt. Instead, I misused it, mistreated it, overworked it, over-exercised it, and undervalued it like it was some sort of crappy rental car I could just return at the end of the lease.
Now, at the ripe, seasoned, beautifully unbothered age of 44, fresh off one of the hardest and most gratifying years of my life…I see things differently.
I look at this body now with appreciation. Real, deep appreciation. The kind that sits in your chest and makes you exhale a little slower. Because this body… it never gave up on me. Even when I gave up on it.
The scars? I earned every single one. I endured that pain. The stretch marks? Proof of the beautiful, exhausting, magical privilege of carrying and birthing two incredible humans. The aging skin? A reminder that 1. time is undefeated and 2. I should’ve listened when people said “wear sunscreen.” But here we are.
And still… I am healthy. I am happy. I am whole. I am finally giving this body the grace, love, kindness, softness, and care it deserves. Because perfection was never in smooth skin, flat stomachs, or the comparison traps I used to live in.
Perfection is in the resilience.
The healing.
The survival.
The memories etched into skin.
The strength that kept going even when my mind didn’t want to.
So today, while getting my knots kneaded like they owed somebody money, I realized something simple and profound. My body, exactly as it is, exactly as it has been…is perfection to me.
I’m done apologizing for it.
I’m done criticizing it.
I’m done overlooking it.
From here on out, we’re in this together…me and this perfectly imperfect body… giving each other a whole lot more grace than we used to.
