A love letter to my body.

A love letter to my body

I have been in therapy for the last three and a half months to help with my anxiety and depression. What is therapy like? Once a week I go to a nice WASPy lady's office and relive a terrible day in my life. I cry, I have anxiety attacks. I get mad. I get sad. I'm left exhausted. Thankfully my insurance pays for most of it. I get to feel fragile and shaky as I ask for my homework for the next week. It's some of the hardest homework I have ever done. But I want to get these issues out of the way so I can be some approximation of normal. It's helping. I'm no longer going to work in the equivalent of pajamas. I am wearing make up most days. My hair is back to red. This is this weeks homework.


I can find a million positive things to love about me. I can find less that I don't like. I love my head, because it contains my hair. I love my hair. The closer I get to being back to myself, the better my hair gets. Right now, the dull red is just the first step. It will get brighter as time passes. There are people in my life that have no idea that my hair is not naturally red. Nor can they imagine me any other way. I love my head also because it contains my face. From my high cheekbones to full lips to my green eyes and carefully arched brows, I like what I see.

The most important part of my head: my mind. It contains my memories, my imagination ,my ability to learn and the most important parts of my personality. It's the first place I express my sexuality. I love my sexuality.

If I move to my neck, I'm happy there too. It contains one of my most formidable assets; my voice. Along with my mind I use this tool to soothe and cajole my customers to be successful at my job. My voice is the fourth tool I use to express my sexuality. My shoulders and arms come next. Once my square shoulders brought the shame of masculinity. They became one of the most important parts of my body and one of my favorites. My lovers have praised their strength and named them second in eroticism to my hips. But they taper down to strong arms and graceful hands that have both held and comforted my children and brought myself and my lovers' pleasure. My hands are my main working tools, aside from my mind. I love them unconditionally.

Moving down, I come to my chest. Yes, I love this part of me too.. My breasts have fed my children, aroused my lovers and inspired the lust of many. They have been called epic, legendary. When not using them for pleasure or nurturing, I use them to cover my heart. People usually find out after getting to know me, that no matter how big my breasts are that my heart is even bigger.

I'm going to admit, I'm not crazy about my belly and my hips. I can hate their size, but I love the service I get in Lane Bryant and every other plus size store. I didn't have sales associates running around at GAP trying to help me. And I look great in my clothes. I have been dressing a curvy body my whole life. No matter what size I am, there is always a man that thinks my body is sexy. It's one of the things I love about men. The most important thing about my belly and hips: They cradled my children through the nine months of pregnancy. They provided a healthy, comfortable place for me to enjoy the most intimate part of my children's lives so far. Feeling their kicks and turns has been the most incredible experience of my life.
I even like my vagina. In pictures it appears to be an intense blend of pink and purple and red colors. It brings me pleasure, it brings my lovers pleasure. I am not ashamed of its sights or smells. It's the seat of my womanhood. Womanhood is far more wonderful than girlhood. My ass: all good things there too. It's big, it's round and at age 34 it has not fallen and can still pass the pencil test. . There is an 8 inch scar on my left cheek from surgery. That spider did not know he had bitten off more than he could chew! But when the S.S. Buttocks sails, everyone watches its sensual passing.
My legs are not my favorite either. But they allow me to walk in a way that has made me famous. They are stronger than you realize. While I may not love their shape, they have carried me across continents and wrapped around lovers and bounced children to delighted laughter in endless games of horsey. My legs end at my feet. I love my feet for their solid structure and amazing ability. I love them because they allow me to indulge in delicious pedicures, where the resulting colors allow me to fancifully call my toes ridiculous names. Because it is not enough for me to indulge in the ridiculous, I coerce others to call my toes by their new names. Best yet, they allow me to indulge in my favorite fetish: shoes! I never underestimate the power of a good pair of shoes. My feet are simply the last place for me to express sexuality.

I would say sexuality is that intangible part of my body that envelops and eclipses the rest. It contains the motherly essence that allows me to care for my children and others. It is the motivation behind my head turning walk and the palpable energy that radiates from my being. It's the combination of all the aforementioned parts that create an entity that is greater than the sum of all its parts. It's the force that could empower me to rule the world or destroy it on its axis.