A Body for Myself

Note: I was taught, whether by my parents or evangelical culture or whatever, that my body is not my own.  As a person, it belonged to God.  As a female, it belonged to my father, then to my husband.  This is me working through that starting place to believing that my body can be my own.

Note 2: I write that my body is “my own,” when I actually don’t believe in a self beyond the body and brain.  I believe my self IS my body, actually, not that it is a vessel for something more authentically me, as I don’t believe in souls.  But the metaphor can be useful in understanding things sometimes.

I am my body.  My body is my own.

My body is not:

made for someone else

a decoration for others to look at

a thing to be covered in shame

a thing to be displayed as if in a store

for the pleasure of anyone else.

My body is for my pleasure.

I can take it and make it run.  I can make it stronger.  Not for anyone else, but solely for my enjoyment:

to enjoy the feeling of moving my body

to enjoy the feeling of hiking up a mountain

to enjoy breath in my lungs and my heart beating faster.

Simply because I want to.  Not to make it more enjoyable or appealing to others.

It is my own.  I am my body.

I can share it for sexual pleasure.  I can choose who I share it with for my own pleasure.

I can choose not to share it with anyone.

I can feed it.  I can feed it with food to make it stronger or to alleviate pain.  I do not have to apologize for how I feed my body, because it is my own and I can find the best way to take care of it, to take care of me, for my own life.

I can be selfish with my body because it is the only one I will have.  When it’s gone, I am gone.  So I experience life with this body for myself, because

it is my own.  I am my body.


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