“Your body is not your masterpiece. Your life is. Your body is not your art, it’s your paintbrush.”
Glennon Doyle
In this time where the world is ravaged by talk of antibodies, I find myself embodied by thoughts of this body.
Even now, “body” is a word I reflexively cringe at. I have struggled with body insecurity since college when my weight started to climb. Prior to this time I experienced a body, and this one in particular, as sensual and celebratory.
I recall being told as a tenager that I was drop dead gorgeous. I was bookish, but could balance the books and a crown atop my head simultaneously. I tried modeling in these years. I found myself at a casting call in Chicago for a prominent agency, and was told that at a size 4 I just wouldn’t be able to make the cut in modeling at the time.
Looking back, what a fucking blessing. I can only imagine the trajectory of my life had I had to trade learning and purpose for making myself more digestible for others. After youth began to create space for building mind and soul in college, my body grew. I remember this sensation of feeling I was built for a world too narrow to contain me, and so I took to convincing myself I could inhabit more space.
As my body started to climb, so did my mind and soul. This is the time when I started to experience true, authentic, joy. It’s when I found my passion for creating, healing, and connection. I struggle to hold both paintbrushes in these hands.
Sometimes I don’t know how to be joyful at this size. I have this internalized fat phobia I can no longer stomach. I resonate with the sentiment of thoughts being consumed by consuming. My people tell me I’m beautiful, but I don’t always remember to. I still fall into the trap of thinking happiness is found at the lower end of the scale. It’s hell.
The body that was celebrated and revered for her beauty and sensuality was fragile, and lonely, and starving for more out of life. She was starved in more than food; she craved a life more embracing and expansive.
Her paintbrush was fragile, and her masterpiece was sourced out of approval and a desire to please.
This paintbrush I have come to know leaves me astonished with her works. I create, and I heal, and I love with this body. This body. The one that makes me feel gigantic on some days, yet authentically joyful on most.
She is brimming with ideas and curiosities and expressions. I have become adept at proselytizing with myself.
I’ve been told I give excellent hugs and I try to believe that in a smaller frame I just wouldn’t get that kind of feedback. My love and my art is worth more than this internalized shameful existence.
My body is bigger than it’s ever been, yet I find my thoughts and my reach are more expansive now than I could have fathomed. Pound for pound, I’m ready to create more than I consume, and burn the bridges of shame to light the way.
I hope this is the kindling you need to ignite the fire you’ve never dared to dream. These strokes are not for everyone, yet this paintbrush remains poised to create. This paintbrush is my palette, and this masterpiece recognizes yours.