“Your body is not an ornament, it is a vehicle to your dreams.” – Taryn Brumfitt
I’ve been thinking on these powerful words again lately. “My body is not an ornament. It’s a vehicle.”
In the past, I have written extensively about bodies; about the way we see them. About the great pain and difficulty that women experience with body-related issues. So much shame and dissatisfaction. Societal pressures. Sexual abuse. Religious teaching and the modesty culture. All of these together have created the perfect storm for women and, yes, for men.
On my own healing journey through the minefield detailed above, Taryn’s words have helped me. “My body is not an ornament, it’s a vehicle.”
At barely 5 feet tall, I’m no Victoria’s Secret model, and I know it. My legs aren’t straight or long. They’re short and bowed.
My breasts aren’t full. They’re small.
My butt isn’t hard and tight. It’s soft, and it wobbles.
My stomach’s not flat. I’ve got a muffin top.
My arms are skinny and freckled. I need help reaching a lotta stuff overhead.
But the truth and the wonder and the joy and the crazy-wild good news is that all of it together? It’s my vehicle. My house, and I love the life that I live in it. Exactly as it is and as it’s not.
My body lets me walk with my husband every night. It lets me sit out on my BOS (Bright Orange Swing) every morning, drinking coffee.
With my body, I cook and clean and take care of my family. It lets me run three miles and pick tomatoes and jump on the trampoline and lie in bed with The Cub, listening to his heart in the night.
My body’s amazing. I climb stairs to my office. Go shopping. Read books. Bake cookies. Do laundry. Curl up. Lie in bed. Float in oceans. Feel the sand. Embrace the sun.
I am intimate with my husband using this body. (And by the way, he told me recently that even when an attractive woman comes along–and he notices–it doesn’t matter. Because he chooses me every time. How wonderful. What a relief! He loves MY body.)
With my body and my brain and my heart and my mind, I stand in front of other women, teaching them what I know. What I’ve learned. How I’ve healed.
“…a vehicle to my dreams.” And I’ve got plenty. Inside this curly head and this warm, beating heart do I ever have dreams. Some big ones, and this body will carry me there. They will happen.
I have places to go. People to see. Great things to do. Life to live, and it’s time.
Time to be finished with shame and self-loathing. Time to embrace how I’m made.
Hey, you. It’s your time, too. You can. Yes, you can. So let’s go.