If you are emerging from lockdown as a slender-toned, healthy eating, enlightened gym bunny, then this blog might not be for you (but don’t let that put you off reading further). If, since March, you have become a slightly slower, comfort-fed, baggier-clothes-wearing version of yourself, then welcome to my club. Take a nice comfy seat.
A few weeks ago, I looked at myself in the mirror; even though it was at home it felt like one of those stuffy changing room moments, when the light is unflattering, nothing seems to fit right and you somehow get glimpses of your carbohydrated body from angles you wish didn’t exist. I didn’t like what I saw and regretted all of the slothish decisions I had made on a hibernation impulse. But then I quickly remembered that I had no frame of reference for living through a global pandemic so I was living in the only way I could, and therefore shouldn’t be so hard on myself. I was still standing, still moving forward, still being me. So rather than berating my body, I am trying to be thankful for all it bares testimony to and everything it will allow me to do in the future.
Growing up with cerebral palsy you would have thought I’d have created a number of hang-ups over my body image, and although I had many a moment when I resented the way my body looked and moved differently (and sometimes still do), I quickly befriended my disability as a harmless acquaintance. I owe this a lot to the teachings of my mam and dad. My dad was always comfortable in his own skin (or at least that was my perception as a boy) and my mam used to have very open conversations about how she would dress for her as “it’s you that has to wear it, so its you that has to like it”. They also gave me the vocabulary to confidently articulate my disability to others, from a very early age. With these two as my role models, I didn’t really have to engage in any potentially damaging body-image issues until I moved away, started growing into my adult body, and the comparisons were presented to me through the obvious media representations and through the often corrosive gay culture of what was and wasn’t attractive. For the majority of the time these have had no pervasive power over my identity, as I’ve managed to surround myself with extremely wholesome people and nab myself a husband who is the first to verify my beauty when he can see my self-doubt creeping in. By ‘beauty’ I mean how I look, but also how I think, how I speak, how I love and how I act.
Last year there were 5691 suicides in England, with one in eight UK adults having suicidal thoughts over body image. When you think of everything we have been living through, it is no wonder that two thirds of UK adults are worried about the long-term effects COVID will have on their lives. Being ‘beach-body-ready’ should not be one of those worries!
Our bodies are simply magical and we should start giving them the credit they deserve. When my mam was dying of cancer and then finally left us, I felt my lungs lose their capacity to breathe, my bones ached, my muscles weakened and just holding myself upright became a chore. My body wasn’t built for this. At the time, I genuinely didn’t know if my body would be able to house so much heartbreak without splitting at the seems or completely collapsing. But it did. I was still standing, still moving forward, still being me. And for that I am so thankful.
My body is built for this. My left-hand side has worked hard to find its wobbly way in a world not created for cerebral palsy. My head can store all stories that make up my past. My heart can mend its breakage with all the love I have and all the love I receive. When my grief catches me off-guard, my lungs breathe deeply to re-calibrate. My feet make me stand each morning, even when I don’t want to, and can withstand the weight that may sit on my shoulders. My smile can bring the face of my mam into vivid focus.
This body has had so many moments to have stopped. So many reasons to dislike it and change it. But for every one of those, there are two more to be thankful for. Just as it is. Even if that means it is slightly cuddlier!
So, on World Mental Health Day try to look at your body and be thankful for the pain it can withstand, the scars it displays, the many thoughts it can hold, the space it can take up and claim as its own, the heartbreak it can house, the past that it is a product of, the present day which it has managed to be in and the future it can take you into.
Your body is magnificent, even when you don’t think it is and when you don’t think it can take anymore; trust it – it can. It got you here and will take you even further. For those thinking of giving up, please don’t – your body doesn’t want you to. Your eyes have new sights to take in, your lips have kisses to give, your feet will take you to new places, and your shoulder will give someone a place to cry. It might not be today, and you might not be able to see it on the horizon, but it will. It can. But if now all your body can do is contain your full experience and breathe, then that’s enough.
If you want to eat comfort food and stay still, your body was built for that too!
The Day the Alien Came 