The longer I live inside this body, the better understanding I have of how it works and what makes it tick.
I understand that it craves validation and attention.
I understand how it shuts down and freezes when it perceives to be under attack, rejected, and not receiving what it needs.
I understand how it puts up barriers to keep from fully connecting, under the illusion of staying safe and protected from loss.
I understand that movement and voice and creativity are crucial ways of moving through this paralyzing fear.
I understand, too, that this body, this self, is perfectly imperfect.
I understand that most of the shame I feel about my body is not even mine. Even though the shame is mostly not mine, it still needs to be felt to be healed.
I understand how I work, and that I don’t always do what’s best for myself even if I have the intention to do so, and that’s OK.
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