A blog post by Pepetoe.
Dear body,
I didn’t write to you when I should have. I was too busy trying to out-run you, out-discipline you, out-starve you into being something else. Something I could love instead of something I hated. But every time you asked for food, rest, softness, I answered with silence, or punishment. And that only made me hate you more.
So, this letter is very late, and I can’t apologise enough for that. But at least it’s honest now.
I want you to know that this isn’t a love letter in the way that Valentine’s Day wants love letters to be. There are no roses here, no promises of forever, no dramatic declarations. This is quieter than that. This is, I guess, a ceasefire. A conversation I avoided for years because I didn’t know how to speak to you without being cruel.
Dear body at sixteen,
You were not the problem. You were a child trying to grow, to take up space, to exist in a world that rewards girls for disappearing. I remember looking at you in mirrors and deciding you were already too much. Too soft. Too noticeable. Too wrong.
I wish I could tell you that nothing at all was broken. Just society. That the discomfort you felt wasn’t failure; it was pressure. It was comparison. It was being taught, very early on, that love was conditional.
I didn’t protect you then, and I’m sorry.
Dear body in the thick of it,
I treated you like an enemy. Every hunger cue was a threat. Every ache was something to override. I measured you, controlled you, pushed you harder when you were already exhausted. I told myself that that was discipline. That I was being strong. That I was accomplishing something. But strength doesn’t look like starving something into silence.
You still showed up. You kept me alive when I was actively trying not to care whether I lived or not. You adapted to things no body should have to adapt to. And, instead of thanking you, I punished you further and further and further.
I didn’t know how to listen to you then. I only knew how to dominate and control.
Dear body in early recovery,
I didn’t love you, and I want to be honest about that. People talk about learning to love their bodies as if it happens overnight. As if you wake up one morning, eat breakfast, and suddenly feel grateful and glowing. That wasn’t my experience, and I think you know that all too well. Loving you felt impossible. Being inside you felt foreign. Every change felt loud and irreversible.
So, instead of love, I tried something else.
I fed you even when I didn’t want to. I rested even when my brain screamed at me. I chose not to abandon you, even when I felt so disconnected from you.
That wasn’t love, but it was a sign of respect. And at that time, that was the bravest thing I could offer you.
Dear body as you changed,
I resented you for a while. For not staying the same. For not fitting into the version of recovery I thought I could control. I wanted you to heal quietly, neatly, without taking up too much room.
You didn’t. You softened. You became visible again. And I had to learn, slowly, painfully, that healing doesn’t ask for permission before it happens.
You were not betraying me by changing. You were recovering from the years of torment and hate I gave to you.
Dear body now,
Some days I still don’t know how to feel about you. And that’s ok. This letter isn’t a promise that I’ll love you every day. It’s a promise that I won’t starve you. I won’t speak to you with violence. I won’t treat you like something that needs fixing before it deserves care.
I will treat you as a friend. My closest friend. You already does way too much for me that I could never repay.
I choose you, even when I don’t feel particularly warm towards you. I choose to feed you, to rest you, to let you take up space.
That’s not romance in the form of a love letter. That’s commitment. And a promise I will most certainly keep this time around.
To anyone reading this on Valentine’s Day,
If loving your body feels out of reach, you’re not failing. Love is not the entry requirement for care. You don’t have to adore your body to stop punishing it. You don’t have to feel grateful to deserve nourishment.
But I hope at some point you do. That you celebrate everything your body can do, and everything it does for you. That you repay it by replenishing nutrients and giving yourself proper rest. Because your body has already been too much. So, to get to the point where you can be gentle with it, and respect, love and care for your body all at the same time… that’s a goal we should all have.
Maybe today isn’t about writing love letters to your loved ones. Maybe it’s about calling a truce with the war inside yourself. Maybe it’s about saying: I won’t hurt you anymore. And sometimes, that’s the most radical kind of love there is.
With honesty,
Me <3
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