I Am Sorry, Belly

When it’s empty and starved, it can fill us pride. When it’s full and round, it can feel like the world is ending. It can cause to not want to wear certain clothing; bring tears to fall from our eyes; prevent us from not wanting to be touched or intimate; force us to unfairly judge and compare ourselves to others; and compel us to punish our bodies by overexercising or undereating. Anyone who struggle with an eating disorder, understands and can relate to the complex relationship to our stomaches.

While I was at a silent retreat, walking amongst tall, thin trees, I heard some murmurs coming from my belly. Wisdom that needed to heard. Words that needed to be written and shared. This poem is the result of that deep listening and honouring the whatever truths came out. This poem hasn’t been edited - it is what it is. There is no real solution or “light at the end of the tunnel”, but these are important words to bring to light; and an important step in my recovery: to be truthful of where I am at right now.

I trust that those who this poem reaches, finds solace and comfort in the understanding that the unfolding of a deeper, more positive body image takes time, love and attention. We’re all on the journey together.

I am sorry, belly

This belly that has felt so much of the wrong thing and felt so little of right thing,
Of which my entire universe can revolve around its roundness, crushing me - or around it’s hollowness, inflating me to a conceited sense of greatness.
It is unfair to place such pressure on such a soft, delicate space to dictate my worthiness and yet I pounce and strip and empty her of her inherent goodwill.
Her inherent will to survive - for me to survive. Her inherent goodness to keep my fire, my passions, my desires burning.
This belly that grew from mother’s and my grandmother’s and from my great great great great grandmother’s and from all the women who exist and have existed. It is such an honour to stem from such a lineage.
What reverence then can I give my belly?
What must I do? What must I do?
All I have to do is listen.
Listen to her cries, her moans, screams, laughter, whispers.
For she holds the intuition. Without her i could make the wrong decision. With her, I am able to make the right decision.
Despite these words, I struggle to trust. I struggle to accept I will be ok. I struggle to have faith in that if I let go of clinging to her that she will look after me.
How do I meet her at the edge and soften?
I hope to one day to trust my softness.

Photo by Daniel Olah on Unsplash