I'm thankful for my body because….
It is strong.
Ha! I got you with the salacious words and pictures didn’t I?
Sorry to disappoint, but moments of feminine appeal aren’t why I'm thankful for my body. I love my body because it is strong. Because it has power and can do things. 15 mile hike battling the brutal grade of the Appalachian Trail? No problem. Dumping half a ton of chemical into a cooling tower 50 pounds a a time? Let's go. I want the blood, sweat and tears.
In middle school and high school, you develop a new interest in your body. Whereas it was perhaps taken for granted before, now it’s doing so many strange and intriguing things, it can’t go without notice. And you’re told by other people what you might think and feel about it. Maybe you’ll worry whether or not it’s attractive to others. Or maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll decide you rank out as not bad, but not the best. Surely you’re never going to care about your hair or makeup or clothes the way other girls do. So since you can’t be the best, screw it. You’ll devote yourself to other efforts like books, brains and soccer.
Why starve yourself to be skinny? Being a jock will help on this quest. If you’re used to extreme physical performance, when the thought of “I wonder if I’m skinny enough” comes up, it can slide right off. It becomes “If I have to run more than six miles everyday to lose weight, ain’t happening. Too much work."
Real pride in your body doesn’t come when a boy twirls his fingers through your curls and says, “You’re so pretty.” It comes when he holds your jersey back after the front line has been released, and whispers, “At least give her a head start before you rip her up.” Or when you insist on shoving your way into the hazing ritual intended for the boys in your grade. Where seniors throw 20 pound boxes of fruit off trucks allowing five feet of fall to teach you the difference between mass and momentum. At the end though your arms are purple from the bruises, you haven’t dropped a box and you’re scooped up, paraded around for a week to show off your wounds.
Don’t worry, I dislike the thesis is based around the appeal of boys, too. Maybe we can’t help but base our feelings of our bodies off the appeal of others. But I like that I can tell you the appreciation is not because you’re a delicate feminine flower. It’s because you’re swole AF. Maybe by telling you it more, it can help you believe it. If not me, certainly J. Law, the queen, praising being fit and strong. Love your body because it is yours and you have so much to do with it.
Alright, alright. While we’re here. I'm also thankful for....
My cleavage. I think it’s perfect. I know perfect is a subjective term for something like this with so many styles and preferences, but I love it. It’s absolutely my favorite part of my body. I like being lush. Ripe with springtime promises, Ostara of the dawn. I know, I know. Stop being so affectual. I can't it. Maybe you're disappointed I'm not leaving on a message of strength, but you also need to appreciate your body in all it's blissful wonder, It's just the tits.