I love you.
Oh, how I do. I see you, too. Know you.
I am you.
And life is not about weight.
I would like to believe the twenty years I thought otherwise was the exact length of time I needed to be able to say this with some stank on it.
Way down in my jiggly gut, I am lovingly and infuriatingly rebelling against the torturous cultural striving to be
I’m not hiding anymore.
I’ve heard it said this way before – We just don’t have that kind of time here.
We just don’t have that kind of time, dear ones.
And some of you, well, maybe you can’t track with me about this yet, and that’s ok. I understand if you’re not ready. I’ve lived in the shelter of not ready. I invite you to consider leaving that space. There are many who wait for you to join them in the joy of loving you.
But take this here, this piece of what I’m saying, so wrapped in great compassion for you, and keep it. Put it in your pocket and carry it to the moment when the deeper hunger arrives at your soul’s door and demands a new kind of food – the chewy, juicy truth that you are not your body, but so much more.
For now, maybe the body you do have aches with cold and you can see your hip bones jutting out through your clothes. Or maybe your knees are swollen with water and your belly so big you can’t bend over without losing your air. I’m talking to both of you and all of you in between.
There is something new coming down the line. There is hope, because I’m not looking at your bones or your belly – I am gazing at your heart and calling you a miracle. And I’m not the only one.
So please, beloved, put your hand on your chest and feel that loyal rhythm inside – You are very much alive. Right now.
Not when you’re bigger. Not when you’re smaller. But right now. Take a wholehearted breath in with me, and let’s do this.
Let’s be alive together.