Read this if: you constantly think about your body

There’s a thought most women carry that no one seems to be saying out loud: Why do I think about my body so much? Not just once in awhile. Not in a passing way. More so in that low-grade, always-running in the background of your mind. We think about our bodies while brushing our teeth, while getting dressed, while sitting in meetings, and while being touched by someone we love. While lying awake at night, promising that tomorrow will be different.

We don’t talk about this enough. Maybe we think we’ll be labeled as shallow. Ungrateful. Or obsessive. But I don’t think it’s any of those things. I think it’s human. Deeply, deeply human.

The thing is, we don’t just have bodies. We live inside of them, twenty-four hours a day. This isn’t a casual fling. We’re talking.. no breaks, no intermission. You live inside this body when you feel magnetic and alive, and when you feel invisible, heavy, and tired of carrying yourself through the world. This is the vehicle for every moment of your life — your work, your pleasure, your grief, your relationships, your passionate pursuits. So when your body, the place you live, doesn’t feel right, when it feels heavy or inflamed or foreign or uncooperative or unpredictable, of course it occupies your thoughts.

This isn’t vanity. If the house you lived in were uncomfortable —if the furniture was broken down, if the electrical wiring short-circuited, a pipe burst, or the temperature was always off — you wouldn’t be able to ignore it. You’d try to fix it. You’d feel responsible. You might even feel embarrassed to invite people inside. Why would the body be any different?

Stay with me for a moment, because I think this is where so much unnecessary shame lives. Many women believe they’ve failed some moral or spiritual test because they care so much about their bodies. As if the goal was to transcend flesh altogether, to float above the lived reality of being human. I know this feeling. I’ve been there. I’ve lived whole seasons of my life consumed by my body. Measuring it. Fixing it. Fighting it. I’ve been the fitness professional who made a career out of helping women change theirs, while quietly believing that if I could just get mine right, I’d finally feel settled too. I’ve been the woman who looked put-together on the outside and was running a full-time internal negotiation with her reflection.