My Body: My Valentine, A Love Letter to My Corporeal Self
I am endlessly fascinated by the human body. I love reading about it, studying it, moving it, and discovering the intricate ways it functions. My university studies in biochemistry, physiology, nutrition, pregnancy, and biology deepened this curiosity. I remember being brought to tears while studying fetal nutrition—awed by the specificity of changes that occur in the body of a newborn just moments after birth. Their first breath triggers a cascade of physiological shifts in their respiratory and circulatory systems, and their first drink transforms their digestive and excretory systems. It’s breathtaking, magnificent, and nothing short of miraculous.
Beyond study, I’ve felt the power of my own body—her muscles, bones, and joints moving in dance, healing from injury, and constantly regenerating. I’m only beginning to explore the interconnections between my brain, gut, psychological well-being, and energy flow. There is so much to discover!
My body is a wonder and a mystery, yet she has been my closest and most constant companion for the past fifty years. I know her well—her flesh, her bumps, her aches, her strength, her beauty, her blemishes, her lines, her curves, and her limitations. I see her every day: in the mirror, in the shower, in movement, in rest, with others, and alone. And still, she manages to surprise me.
Yet, too often, I have judged and criticized her. I have wished parts of her away while, paradoxically, chastising her for what she lacks. At times, I’ve felt betrayed by her—though I’m slowly coming to realize it may be the other way around.
In this season of midlife, she speaks to me through aches, pains, sleeplessness, bloating, and confusion. My faithful companion now seems to speak a language I don’t yet understand. She still craves movement, deep rest, and a big drink of water, but something else is stirring—parts of her pushing and squeezing their way into a new shape.
She reflects what’s happening within: I no longer want to be known that way. Don’t put me in a box. Let me expand, shift, and be fully me.
She is me. We are we.
Over the years, I’ve come to recognize the inner wisdom of my body. There are times when I seem to know, in an embodied way, what I need or what to do—before I’m even consciously aware of it. For instance, I dig garden beds to plant seeds while internally opening myself to abundance. I remove doors from their hinges to paint trim while reflecting on my experience of being in a season of transition. I take long walks while my soul seeks answers for its wandering heart.
There’s a deep interplay between my outer and inner life, and more often than not, my body leads the way.
These days, my body keeps guiding me back to dancing. We spend hours together moving and grooving, shaking and being silly. On a cellular and energetic level, we’re shaking not just my fleshy tush, but parts of me that no longer belong—false selves, memories, and stored traumas. She knows the way through this transformation. With all her intricate neurological, intracellular, endocrine, and physiological connections, she’s already in motion—dancing her beautiful, holistic rhythm.
She leads this dance, guiding every part of me toward a fuller, more integrated self. She’s already at the party, celebrating all that she is and all that she knows.
It’s my consciousness that’s always a step behind.
Christine Valters Paintner writes “The invitation to be truly present to our own body is now louder and more relevant as we face divisions and disconnections. We are invited to cultivate a deeper and more grounded presence to our body so we can be more present to others and nature.” And so, I write:
A Love Letter to my Corporeal Self
As you shake and shimmy,
Thank you.
I love you.
I trust you.
You’re beautiful.
Be Mine.