This started as a journal entry—just me, sorting through what I felt. But by the time I finished writing, the Universe made it clear: this wasn’t just for me. It was inspired by a conversation with a friend I care about. I don’t know if she’s ready to hear it—or just beginning to look inward—but I know that someone is. So instead of offering unsolicited advice to her, I decided to share it for anyone who is ready to hear this:
Your body doesn’t hate you.
Right now, you sometimes hate your body.
You hate how it limits you and causes you pain.
"Life would not feel as hard if my body and I got along better.
I could do what I want to do — feel how I want to feel—be proud of the body I created."
Have you ever made friends with someone you didn’t really like — because working with them was easier than fighting them?
Whether a colleague, a peer, an in-law or stepfamily, a vendor, or someone in authority...
can you see how sometimes, being able to work together brings more peace than holding onto judgment?
Your body isn’t your enemy—but it feels that way when you’re at war with it.
How do you extend an olive branch to someone you’ve battled for so long?
You start by finding common ground.
What could you both talk about that brings a little ease?
Some people—bitter about their own lives—try to make others miserable.
How dare you enjoy a life they’ve chosen to hate?
Eventually, we realize it's not our job to make them happy.
We let them be miserable and stop making their misery mean anything about us.
Some people are waiting for a good day to arrive while only complaining about the life they've already manifested.
They attract more of what they complain about.
I don’t have to be one more reason to complain.
I don’t have to be anything to them.
They can decide who I am to them, but I get to decide who they are to me.
My body, for example, will no longer be my captor. I will no longer be its victim.
I’m done feeling like a hostage to what my body says I can or can’t do.
Thanks to living in the future—with so many resources—I can find a way to do anything I imagine or set my mind to.
For far too long, my body has carried my emotions — and became the reason for those emotions.
Whether it’s anger, regret, guilt, doubt, frustration, or anxiety, my body lets me know how much it’s doing for me.
There’s a flow to life. With healing comes pain.
If you feel pain, that means the healed version of you is already behind it.
Pain’s job is to protect the memory of everything you’ve survived.
Letting go doesn’t erase what happened, or even its memory.
It simply offers you a new perspective.
The pain of losing someone can be healed by remembering the energy they left behind for you to appreciate.
Whether they died or life took them in a different direction, you get to decide how to remember them.
You can focus on how or why they left, or you can remember what they gave you while they were here.
What did they teach you about yourself?
Who were you before them?
Who did they help you become?
Whether they helped you find forgiveness or adventure, they left you with a deeper knowing of who you are.
In what way do you honor that memory, or do you?
Do you hold onto only the sadness?
What would letting go of the pain feel like?
Could you let go of the sadness without losing what you love about them?
Thinking and feeling like that my body hates me only attracts more reasons to feel that way.
To change what I attract, I'd have to feel differently.
I change how I feel by changing how I'm thinking.
Gratitude is always my cure for that.
Where in my life can I feel grateful?
I can appreciate the people who help and support me.
I can appreciate the good days—whether often or rare.
I can appreciate what my body does do for me—
keeping me alive, asking for nothing but breath in return.
My heart beats.
My lungs breathe.
My blood flows.
My cells fight for me, heal me, feed me, and protect me.
I could treat my body better.
But even when my emotions take over,
my body still shows up for me.
How could I deny that it loves me?
I can even appreciate that life continues, even when I take time to rest.
The world spins on.
And I can remember:
It’s not the world rushing me.
It’s my anxiety trying to catch up to a future I haven’t arrived at yet.
Time is on my side.
Everything that happens, happens at exactly the right time for me.
If I don’t feel ready, life waits — or teaches me how to get ready.
If I feel rushed, that’s anxiety speaking — reminding me to slow down and enjoy the moment I’m in,
before I miss the magic it was meant to offer me.
To feel rushed is just me allowing someone else’s timelines to run my life.
When all is said and done, I want to be friends with my body.
That’s my first challenge — and maybe, my first victory.
Anxiety says meditation is a waste of time. It says you should be doing more.
Proving more. Winning more.
But meditation is how we remember who we are.
It’s how we stop reacting and start listening.
And when I listen long enough…
I find anxiety isn't my enemy.
It’s just another misunderstood friend.
One who, when honored properly, can become a supernatural power.
Guiding you to create the future you want, predicting what's in store for you.
My anxiety is a premonition. A reminder to find joy in this moment.