I hate my body.
I don't mean that I hate my appearance. I mean, I do hate it plenty of times, I hate the shape of my body, I hate how fat I've always been. But what I mean is that I hate my body on the inside.
I hate the way my body fails me. I hate what my body does to me. When I work with clients on not hating their bodies, one thing I work on is changing the focus from how their body looks to the ways their body is powerful and what their body can do for them.
But what my body can do for me is pain. What my body can do for me is fail. Fail to be a real woman. Fail to carry my baby. Fail to even put my baby in the right place in my body.
I found myself this week focusing on trying to "get ahead of the pain" with how I timed taking my medicine, and it felt mentally like trying to get ahead of the pain as I recovered from the surgery. There's something wrong with that. I find myself rationing my medicine because of how expensive it is. And that's a generic, it's just a rare one. There's something wrong with that. It's my body, failing me like it does every month.
What's there to love about that?