To the girl with the pain in her eyes:
You’ve worked so very hard at hiding it away,
Shielding yourself, creating rough scales of self-protection that eclipse your heart,
Spending your time weaving a tale of how good life is,
How good it was,
How good it will be,
When underneath the worry of more-love’s more-pain frosts your every breath
And the moment somebody spots that pain
The less you want them.
Once they see you they’ll leave, right?
Right??
Ah, God, to my girl with the pain in her eyes:
Let me show you that’s not the case.

To the girl with the ice in her veins:
I’m here to bring you sunshine.
I am warmth, I am young love, I am fresh starts, I am an unstoppable thaw.
Spring has arrived in your life,
A time for growth and new buds and fresh air.
There will still be a chill sometime, and that’s okay,
Cause it renders the warmth that much better when it arrives.
Hold my hand, dear Winter, and let’s watch the seasons change together, let’s make it through the thunderstorms and mud and late unanticipated final frosts of Spring and live in anticipation of the hot, lustful sun to come.
To the girl with the ice in her veins:
You’ve been frozen too long. Join me in the light of day. Shed your heavy cloak.
I know you can.
Come turn your face to the sun.

To the girl who runs from the fear:
Hold my hand tighter.
Don’t let me go. We’ll face it together.
I’ve lived this fear. I’ll live it again.
For you.
If I am opening my heart to the black void that is not knowing how this will all turn out in the end, I want to do it with you.
Big risk is big fear is your cue to run.
Run to me; run with me.
Big risk can also be big love. You just have to make it through.
You can’t go back. You wouldn’t want to go back.
One foot in front of the other. Your family in your hands.
To the girl who runs from the fear:
Stop running.
Confront it and emerge victorious.

To the girl who can never trust:
One brick at a time. One build-up of the foundation. I don’t care how long it takes to get there, all that matters is progress.
I show my dedication?
Brick.
I catch you when you fall?
Brick.
I don’t let you go?
Brick.
One by one.
I am not anybody else. I cannot undo somebody else’s hurt.
All I can do is be myself. A flawed self. I will fuck up.
Hopefully by then the foundation will be laid and solid and indestructible and we can hold each other in the home built of love and recover together.
To the girl who can never trust:
Think about building something with me.

To the girl who’s afraid she’s not worth it:
Dear one, you couldn’t possibly be more wrong.

The conversation has finally been had. You know the one. I think you’re kinda cool, do you think I’m kinda cool?

Adult-style.

I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t sink a bit when you confessed that I wasn’t really your “preferred” body type. But it was only for a moment, fleeting, and in an instant I realized that that was the best answer I ever could have gotten from you. As I listened to you continue with the honest dialogue I began to feel fortunate for that truth too.

I probably don’t have anybody’s ideal body. Nobody is going to order up a post pregnancy C-section and surgery scarred body on their porn queue. I get it. The more I age, the more problems arise and the more beatings (pun intended) my body takes. A quick little history of my body though. A body that has carried me through and been good to me even when I’ve not been good to it. 

My arms may not be as toned as they once were. I have shoulder struggles; a daily, no, constant reminder of the one time I was a victim of domestic violence from my ex. If you only read “flabby arms” in that sentiment, I’m not interested in you anyway. One time.That’s the key. I was abused once and I walked away with my head held high and refused to become a subsequent victim. I am probably much stronger than I think.

(Thank you for reminding me of this.)

God I swear no matter how many hours I sweat at the gym I cannot get the flat stomach of pre pregnancy body. My second pregnancy, ending in emergency C-section, has completely destroyed my muscles. It’s not from lack of effort. 

But on that pregnancy: I woke up two months before my due date and something in the deepest core of my being told me something was wrong. I rushed to the hospital that morning and discovered my son had his cord wrapped around his throat. My body was choking him. There was no time for preparing me or my husband. They rushed me into the OR and the last thing I remember is the face mask coming down and the strange eyes of my doctor. My last thought was they didn’t want MR there because they knew my son hadn’t made it and didn’t want him to be present to see that. 

I won’t ever have a truly flat stomach again and I… don’t… care….

I have a living child.

And when he hugged me this morning and in his 3 year old voice told me, “Mamma, you are soooo beautiful.” I believed him.

He’s right. I am. 

Fifteen years I tormented my body. Take your pick. Cyclical years of starvation or purging. Drugs. Drink. Smoking. Unhealthy food. Unhealthy habits. A life of destruction. I’m so young but so shocked every day I wake up. Glad for another day to breathe. I frankly didn’t think I’d make it this far.

I’ve never been healthier. I’ve never been happier. I love working hard to improve myself every single day, physically and otherwise. I push myself to be an amazing woman: every day to have a more amazing body but also a more amazing spirit, and soul, and intellect too. I hope that is attractive to you. 

As my fingertips reach for the sky during my vinyasa flow or wrap around you with timid care I ambeautiful.

As my body drapes and grinds against the bench to accept Master’s strikes I am beautiful.

As I primp and prime and get ready to see the world each day (maybe even to see you that day) I know unconditionally, unequivocally, that I am beautiful.

More beautiful that I’ve ever been.

I may not be anybody’s ideal body type. But anybody would be lucky to have me as an option.

So here’s why it was the best response you could have ever given me:

1. If I’m not your preferred body type, and you still think I’m a cool chick, and I still turn you on, then that makes you a cool guy in my book. It means you really see people. That you can discern what is hot in fantasy from what is hot in reality. That you see more of people than just seeing body parts. Thank you for that.
2. You were honest with me. That is bad ass and one hellova way to have this particular conversation. It made me trust your word; believe in you. That kind of honesty is sexy as fuck.

I know this is a long winded way of getting here but your response was the best response because it created an opportunity for me to say this honestly to you.

You told me I wasn’t your preferred body type yet you can see more to me than that.

I want to tell you that you are my preferred body type yet I can see more to you than that.

We are not “only” physical appearance. Neither of us.

None of us.

Not a single person on earth gains or loses their sole value on the basis of their body. We’re all skin, bones, blood, brains that will one day be only dust so what makes us special and unique are the things unseen.

Thank you for really seeing me. For seeing that my imperfections are simply my history told. I hope you know I really see you, past the tattoos and the beard and the body.

I hope to show you soon that this perfectly flawed yet also perfectly trained and experienced body can doincredible things that may somehow make reality better than fantasy could ever be.

You told me I wasn’t your preference and it was truly the best response ever.

(#transparency)

Kind Regards,
Mrs. Darling