Dearest temple of my mind and soul, cauldron of my magic, vehicle for my adventures; I apologize with all my passion. I have put you to so much hate and craziness and desperation that I can’t barely believe you’re still on my side.
I put you through hunger, over eating, Tequila nights, late nights and so many confusing and contradicting messages and feelings; I love you, I hate you, I want to live forever, my life sucks, I am happy, I suffer…
You tensed up sometimes but you always accepted my excuses and the little love I gave you as a bandage; the days of soothing organic veggie broth, uplifting green juices, the occasional visit at the sauna and acupuncturist, the warm lemon water and NAD in the morning, the Probiotics and sauerkraut…
You sighed deeply and built yourself up to smile again.
Recently you refused. You kept on sending pain messages; something isn’t right. I couldn’t appease you with the usual tricks.
What didn’t I see?
“Sign up,” you said. “You have time for this.”
So I spontaneously signed up for what evolved into a two hour talk with a holistic practitioner on the phone. He became your voice.
“You tried so hard to love yourself,” you said, “but you don’t, not always. Not deeply. Your bullies are hiding but they are still around.”
I felt my fear of not being pretty and young enough on my skin and in my irregular heart beat; not being smart and innovative bugged my head and my self doubt ached in my belly.
“You have used anger to motivate you,” you said.
So true, each time mess happened I got up and wrote a blog or a couple chapters or even created a business because I hated what had happened to me. I got more mess because hey, that’s my powerful badass sidekick.
When in challenging situations I moaned “I can’t do this any longer.” It was you, my body speaking to me. You asked me to stop. I didn’t listen. I kept on doing…
I forced myself to adhere to dead lines. Instead of getting me there the “have to!!!” reduced my joy of the creative process; I froze. I never had writer’s block before. The panic “to be somebody” only after I publish the book became my No 1 goal, not the message, not my art. My love for storytelling got drowned in my fear of survival and my need to be seen.
I had watched less experienced and advanced women in my field of fashion therapy being preferred to me; they got invited to to talk in conferences because they have a product, a book, something tangible out there. Not just 12,000 followers on IG and an okay blog. I was angry again; I have to show them what I know. Urgently.
Why? Do I fear I’ll die tomorrow? That others steel my ideas and get them out before me? It happened before…
I looked into he mirror and she said “You’re not enough without your book. Your rebel talk, your theatrical pictures don’t count.”
The old “not enough” created anxiety and fear. My mantras of self love and my powerful alter ego on Instagram had not managed to silence it.
“You don’t have to work so hard to make it.”
I don’t? My shoulders relaxed and my voice trembled when I thanked you. You are right; I was again too harsh in my demands, too relentless and took you for granted; I took from you and did not give back; now you are depleted, tired and yearn for attention.
I will serve you the way you so unconditionally served me.
When I hung up the phone I cried. It was a release of all that pushing, fearing, wanting. I wrote about my discoveries and made them real.
I decided to trust; my path, my timing, my Self.
I wrote this letter to my body.
The next day my symptoms were gone. They come back from time to time reminding me not to forget; this is a journey of reinvention.
My book shows how our lives are movies with opponents, wise guides and many supporting actors, where the heroine has to go through tough challenges to discover and reach her goal.
Trust is a conscious decision. I trust my own knowing.
Here I am, finally.
I am coachable; I will listen.
I invite joy to finish my writing and let go of artificial deadlines.
I don’t need anger to get moving, my motivation is gifting the world with new thoughts and insights.
I return to my initial spark to pursue writing this memoir; to share my journey as an inspiration and empowerment.
I stop excuses for late eating and late nights; in fact I stop both.
I let go of critical responses to my looks; I am okay the way I am. When they come up I acknowledge them and put them aside; I love myself the way I am.
I am patient and take baby steps to convince you that I mean it this time.
I trust my timing and my process
To rewire our brains is daily training.
My last sentence in my letter to my body is
“I always said I would like to have somebody who loves me for who I am. I see now that’s you. I will be your soul mate.”