An Invitation to Start Loving Your Body This Year
You don’t have to fix your body to love it — you have to love it to heal it.
For most of my life — especially after becoming a mother — my relationship with my body has been complicated.
My weight has yo-yoed for years.
And while I’ve often criticized my body for how it looks, I’ve started to understand that the extra weight I carry isn’t the source of my shame — it’s a response to it.
The real shame comes from much earlier.
From childhood experiences, bullying, and emotional pain I never fully processed.
From a quiet belief I internalized somewhere along the way — that it was safer to shrink, to hide, to not draw too much attention to myself.
My body, in many ways, listened.
It held the shame for me. Protected me.
It built layers — emotional and physical — so I could keep going.
I’ve tried to "fix" my body from the outside: diets, routines, results.
Some of them worked — for a while.
But my mindset didn’t shift. The shame stayed. The self-blame lingered.
And eventually, the weight returned — not as failure, but as memory.
So now, I’m learning to shift the way I see it.
To move from punishment to protection.
To look at my body not as something that let me down — but something that never stopped holding me.
This post is part love letter to my body — and part gentle invitation to love yours too.
Not through force. Not through expectations.
But through small rituals of softness, gratitude, and care — the kind we were never taught to give ourselves.
Rituals for Reconnecting with Your Body
If loving your body feels out of reach right now — or even just unfamiliar — here are a few practices that are helping me come back home to mine.
1. Name what your body has done for you
Not how it looks — but what it’s held.
Has it carried a child? Walked you through grief? Danced you out of despair? Held joy and fatigue in the same day?
Write it down. Speak it out loud. Name the resilience.
2. Reframe what you critique the most
Stretch marks? Growth.
Softness? Safety.
Grey hairs? Wisdom.
Your body has stories. Change the way you tell them.
3. Visualize yourself in joy
Not thinner. Not different.
Just you — laughing, walking, swimming, resting, holding someone you love.
Let that image stay with you.
4. Set one body boundary
Unfollow accounts that chip away at your self-image.
Ask not to be commented on — even kindly.
Refuse to joke about your body, especially when no one else is laughing.
5. Give your body one act of care a day
Drink water. Stretch for three minutes. Walk without a podcast. Rub lotion on your arms slowly.
Let your body feel your attention.
6. Revisit old photos with new eyes
Look at the pictures you once criticized.
Try again.
See the light in your eyes. The softness. The presence.
Speak gently to that version of you. She needed it. You still do.
7. Write your own love letter
You don’t have to share it.
But say the words.
Let your body hear them.
Let it be loved out loud — even once.
And here’s mine -
Dear body,
I’ve lately come to realize how much you’ve suffered and endured — and how often I’ve let you down.
I’ve blamed you, criticized you, picked you apart.
Every time I looked at you, I focused on what you weren’t.
What society said you should be.
What I thought would make you “better.”
And I’m sorry for that.
Somewhere along the way, I internalized that your worth was in how you looked — not in what you’ve carried.
Not in who you’ve kept alive.
Not in how much you’ve done to help me survive and function and even thrive.
But something in me is shifting now.
There’s a quiet voice asking me to look deeper.
To stop just seeing the surface.
To look at you — fully.
Not just the outer shape, but the whole being that you are.
The extra weight I carry?
That’s not failure. That’s protection.
That’s years of shame and fear layered into softness, trying to shield me.
The skin that breaks out?
You trying to balance me, hormonally, emotionally — even when I ignore the signs.
The tired eyes?
They come from long nights, early mornings, juggling motherhood, work, and a thousand invisible tasks.
The stretch marks?
From the miracle of growing my child inside of you.
From expanding with life.
Everything I’ve judged you for has been part of life’s ebb and flow.
And in truth — it’s all beautiful.
Not in the curated Instagram way.
But in the real, raw, human way.
And while I’ve spent so long obsessing over what wasn’t “right,”
I’ve missed all the quiet miracles you perform.
The breath that moves through me without asking.
The way my legs carry me each day.
The way my heart keeps beating.
The way my hands hold my son, write my thoughts, create work, connect with people.
You’re doing all this — constantly — and I’ve barely said thank you.
You’ve never stopped showing up for me.
Even when I pushed too hard.
Even when I didn’t rest.
Even when I neglected what you needed.
So this is me beginning again.
Not with a new diet or a workout challenge.
But with a promise:
To listen.
To care.
To be on your side.
You are the vessel for the goddess in me,
and I want to start treating you with the reverence you’ve always deserved.
Love,
Arushi