An Ode to Myself

I have made one promise to myself this year: this is the first year of hopefully many that I am no longer ashamed of living in my skin and my body.

Just a mere three and a half years ago (both a blink and a lifetime away) I was so desperately trying to destroy this skin and this body. It's a time that I do not look back on often, and I feel the sting of tears in my eyes long before I allow myself to remember properly.

I ache with the grief of what I have done to my former self. To my childhood self. Organs scarred. memories tainted, and some of my "finest" years left in the viscous wake of my own destruction.

It will take the rest of my time here on Earth to undo the thinking and the turmoil that dropped me down to rock bottom. It will take countless more sleepless nights, crying sessions, and self-help, and perhaps more bottom-of-the-glass views than I would like to admit to.

But, that starts with promises, and that starts with work.

So, back to now.

I am both too tired to fight myself anymore and so full of hope for the future that it makes me sick.

I am by no means a pessimist, and often not even a realist, but who's rooting for you and your future else if it isn't yourself?

There is plenty to be hopeful for. I have built this body from the rubble, and I have put up every feeble structure with my own hands, with more than just the cuts on my hands and the dust on my clothes to show for it.

I pushed this body to walk marathons through endless rolling fields, and scaled mountains, and climbed to sunsets when just three years ago I didn't have the strength to get myself up the stairs.

The Dog might be merciless, but I have to tell myself that the fight is over. There is no need to be in fight or flight anymore,

It's like taking my childhood self by the hand – the one that I have both hurt and held – and telling her softly that it's okay to let go. I hope I can give her the solace I know she desperately needs.

This year will be good. I can't promise myself I won't slip, and I won't criticize without meaning to, but I will be gentle with myself. You heard it here first.