i made up with my body today

I caught a glimpse of my naked self this morning. Not something I usually see with glasses or contacts. It was pale and large, a few stretch marks, an occasional scar. Looking at it, I realized how much I hated it, abused it like some awful mother in made-for-TV movies: equal parts ignored and exacerbated its problems. I REALLY, REALLY looked at it; the scar where it had survived a 13 pound tumor, the solid bones (none ever broken), the hips that bore a perfect baby girl. No real trauma, disease, or injury. For over thirty years, it has never failed me, not even a little. What brings on the venom? Why do I hate it so much? Simple truth because it's fat; it's not a body that can eat pizza and chips and still look great. But it's still a body, mine and it lets me walk, rest, love, and play. So I told myself I was sorry and meant it. And in turn, forgave myself and my body, and meant it a little more.