The Magi

The other day I was talking to an acquaintance about the January I've had, a season of illness and vertigo, a flare up from Meneire's disease, my new companion. A phrase came to me as I described my experience: my body is not a battleground. As the words left my mouth, I felt their truth and resonance, ringing in me like a bell.

I think of powerful declarations others have made about their bodies: Sonya Renee Taylor's words, the body is not an apology and Amy Kenny's my body is not a prayer request. I wonder about how those words came to them, and how they rang true in their bodies.

Sadly, my body has been a battleground. For what are probably many reasons, body shame and body hatred have been a part of my journey, feelings that have accompanied me since I was a little girl. Unraveling this shame about my physical self has been a winding road.

If I had to put words to the imprint of that shame, I would describe it this way: somehow I felt like my body should always be in my control. My weight, my desires for food, my mental health, my feelings and emotions, and my needs 'should be' managed and controlled.

I can hear my beloved therapist's gentle voice in my head, how she helped me understand and question this 'pathological belief' that everything was my fault and should be under my control.

One of the gifts of illness is how it's cut through the body shame and this belief of 'I should be in control.' Caring for something that is so much bigger than me has dissolved this illusion. It's so clear to me that the illness is not my fault, which brings peace. There's discomfort, yes, and pain, but not the second arrow of blame or shame. It's the most extraordinary relief, to not make illness, or vulnerability, wrong.

This perspective, like a wave lapping at a shore, has come to meet the other places in my life where I've felt the sting of that second arrow: perhaps my eating disorders or depression were not my fault. Perhaps any of my struggles were not something I should have prevented or controlled. Perhaps there is so much mercy for me, just as I am.

Perhaps there is so much mercy for you.

The Magi

My body is not a battleground
although sometimes it feels
that way. I feel the coming wave
of dizziness, tense and brace.
My mind rushes ahead, planning,
flips through the filing cabinet in
my head to remember what to do.

When dizziness came yesterday
I was in the woods, my dog racing
through the underbrush. All I could do
was sink to the ground. A man found me,
asked if I was alright. He brought me my
dog and handed me my phone, his voice
kind. My head spun and my stomach
churned as the warm sun shined through
the trees.

This wasn't my first spell of vertigo. But it
was the first that began in the daytime. This
new threshold left me wondering, what does
this mean? What will my life look like when
this can happen anytime, anywhere?

I inched my way home, my dog eager, impatient
on the leash. I took medicine. I lay on the couch.
Later that night I felt well enough to watch my
husband's dance lesson. Later that night I felt
sore and dizzy as I tried to sleep.

This is the swinging bell of my life, from well
to wobbling, sometimes within a day. I wish
I could tell you that I'm brave, that my strongest
self arrives when the world spins. But sometimes
I'm hallowed out and humbled, gulping every
drop of help, weeping because I've spent
the coins of my courage.

I don't have to make it any less or any more
then it is when it arrives. I can weep when I'm
overwhelmed and laugh when there's humor.
Both can live in the earth of my body, for
my body is not a battleground. I'm too tired
to fight. I'm too tired from too many years
when my body was a battlefield.

Instead I hold my body. I tell her, I know you're
doing everything you can to help me. I cry
when I hurt. I smile at the sun. I respect
the illness, what it asks of me – her servant,
not her master. I wonder at the gifts she brings,
this unexpected Magi.

My body is not a battleground because there's
wisdom here, and grace, and a sword cleaving
away the wound of self disgust, cleaning the sore
of self blame. I kneel before the manger of my
my mortal, human body, and wait to see:
what is being born here?

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With a grateful heart, Karly