Dear beautiful woman,

You ever wake up most days, and you’re all smiles? Yeah, that’s a great feeling! The way I see it is, If you can get through 245 of the 365 days in a year being happy, then that’s a pretty good year to me. That possibly leaves you with 120 days of uncertainty.

How do you feel on a day-to-day basis? What are you thankful for when you wake up? Do you ever think for one second that you may not be here the next day? Scary thought, huh?

I woke up one morning in November of 2021, not feeling great. It was during the pandemic and I had a bad cough. I thought the Rona had taken hostage over me. It was just a miserable feeling. My body didn’t feel well. I knew something was wrong.

The doctor visit was a little bizarre to me. The doctor was prescribing medication to me without checking my lungs out with an x-ray. I asked the doctor “can I have an x-ray?” She replied” sure”. The X-ray results were in and it showed a shadow in my lungs. My body with a shadow didn’t make sense. What does that even mean? I tested negative for corona, strep, and flu. I could not figure out what was going on.

The insurance didn’t approve me yet for a CAT scan of my lungs. I felt a tug on my lungs, as if someone tapped me and said “we need a further examination”

Weeks later, I still didn’t feel well. I was at work feeling like I was having an anxiety attack. I never had one before so I couldn’t compare this feeling to anything else. My body was definitely speaking to me. I called an Uber and went straight to the hospital. My body was still tapping me and saying “get a CAT scan”. Sometimes your body can turn in t a Bully to make sure you understand it’s language.

“I can’t breathe, ma’am”, is what I stated to the doctor. To be honest, physically I could breathe fine but mentally, I could not. I decided to exaggerate just a little so I can get the answers that I was looking for. I was rushed into the machine and received a CAT scan of my lungs.

“FINALLY, let’s do this”, I said to my body. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. My body was still talking to me. After the scan, I was placed in the waiting room. Scans showed a mass that was near my heart since 2011, has become too big and I will need surgery to remove it.

I thought to myself “is this woman talking to me, because ain’t no way I had a mass since 2011 and I was never informed”. It’s 2020 now. I asked myself “could that be a mistake?”.

I continued to do further testing and was able to be seen by a surgeon. The surgeon stated that the cat scans show a mass near my heart and it needs to me removed.

I was alone in the doctors office trying not to cry. “I have two sons and I need to see them grow into the great young men that they are becoming”. I learned a true lesson of “when your body speaks, you need to listen”

My surgery was scheduled at another hospital. I couldn’t dare have surgery in a hospital that never informed me of my mass in the first place. My body rejected that surgeon and his theories.

With the help of my attorney that I worked for, I scheduled my surgery in the City for March 2022. I had an MRI on January 25th. That was my dads birthday. My body knew that I was going to be ok, just for the simple fact that I would get clear answers from a test that I am taking on my dads birthday. He passed in 2018 from colon cancer.

March 2021 came and I was cut open to hand my mass removed from around my heart. Once I was opened,unbox revealed that it was not near my heart, it was wrapped around my lung. It was huge. My body had a score of “3”and these hospitals scored “0”.
A thoracic surgeon was on board and he saved the day. I thought to myself “thank god I listened to my body. I would have never known”.

It was not a speedy recovery. I went from not knowing anything that was going on in my body to having a tumor that was non cancerous out of my body.

Healing was not easy. I had to go back to work while I was trying to heal. The people I worked for asked me “what’s taking you so long to heal?” A woman being cut down her breast, asking her what’s taking long to heal? Imagine that shit! I quit and didn’t look back.

I didn’t know that I had the strength to build myself back up. My body has been through plenty of other surgeries but not like this one. My lungs were collapsed during this surgery and that’s not easy. I didn’t know that it takes mental, emotional and physical strength to get yourself back together.

I have a scar down the middle of my breast and I felt that I would be embarrassed to show my body. It’s a scar of resilience, courage and fight. I fought for my body and I’m glad I did. I am not going to be embarrassed of what happened to my body ever. I’m here and I’m alive.

Listen to your body at all times. It speaks to you, because you simply wouldn’t know.

I didn’t really know how to go about this but: I have alopecia; this isn’t a haircut.
I know, I know it looks like I get this done-
but that’s not the case.
See its felt strange lately, with all of the “shorty I like your cut”
& “what’s your shave setting”; because when I first moved here it was a lot of “god bless you” & “are you okay” whispers of “ why would she do that”
..why would I be diagnosed with a disease at the age of five?
Um.
Now that the shoe is on the other foot; now that things are more ‘positive’-
I feel a pit in my stomach.
Because it negates the struggle to get here.
Assumptions that I’m riding a trend.
Which, I’m happy that those younger than me w/ the same disease, will receive less scrutiny..but what about me?
My story untold; still unable to book roles, from the lack of typecast provided for fully bald women:
living a normal life, not cancerous, not villainous, no powers..where?
I write my own.
Submit my screenplays, send publishing companies my pages.
And I know it takes time, but my voice is muted through the patience; my heart breaks while I wait-
but I grab the tape.
Allowing myself space from the rejection I face.
Because I know in its wake, awaits my fate.

– written on the L train from Jefferson to Union Sq @ 10:45pm- By Faith Williams

Instagram: few16
Email: faithel1994@gmail.com

You my temple, have been tampered with. However, you’re still standing. You’re still mine. You have been abused in all sorts of ways, yet you stand strong, and this is the reason I stand strong. Physically, emotionally, mentally, beside others, besides myself. Over and over, time and time again. You still heal and shelter me from this life I have been blessed with. You have gifted me with the strength I face this harsh world with. My armor, my shell.
You have gone from a structure I struggled to build with weight to a structure I try to remodel by losing weight all these years later.
I have carried children well past the mark of a delivery date, only to have them cut from me because they were too comfortable to leave naturally. You have given me the greatest gifts I have ever been bestowed with. My boys. Now you have blessed me with another child, a blessing only God can have granted us with when he implanted this child in you.
There are days I feel old and weak, too old to partake in this journey once more. You prove me wrong and get me though another day.
You heal quickly with no help from the medical professionals. That impresses me daily. The amount of pain you have encountered cannot be imagined or described. If I didn’t experience it, I wouldn’t believe it myself. I trust you now more than ever. Witnessing and mentally being apart of the recovery has led me to believe that the only person that has the power to destroy you is me. I will be better. Kinder. Gentle from now on.
I apologize for my mistakes. Please forgive me for my sins against you. I take full accountability for what you have endured and I now find myself having the need to not only forgive others, but most importantly, I must forgive myself first.
I want nothing more than to stop surviving and to start living the life you have carried me through. You have been my protector all these years and now it’s my turn to protect you.

The women he paints
In pastels but mostly blue
Reveling in intimacy
Bathing just standing
Bending without a care
At first glance
not models
But women, they are.
Muffin tops
and never toned
Humans, Women, Tender creatures.

Curves and love handles like vines
No start or finish line
All intertwining,
A beautiful mystery, I see.

I look at these paintings, mesmerized
Go home and see,
Steam from the shower confessing
Beautiful body, that is she.
Needs not look a certain way
Neither his nor hers
Only mine, how divine.

Why do they care
What I should wear?
The clothes,
Kissing and hugging my body
Is nothing compared
to the blissful smile I wear.

Endangered smile
Once again.
After 50 years or so,
They’re taking the reigns.
You take my body,
You take my everything,
Especially that once luminous smile.

Dear Body,

I love you because I severely dislike you.

At one point, I did not know if I would need a helmet to protect me from physically breaking a bone of yours. That is not my only bone to pick with you; it’s hard to swallow that everyday activities are challenging because of you: shoes, buttoning shirts, opening cans, etc., are taxing, but the younger me did not care about any of that: what I missed the most was sports.

Kids are taught to move their bodies from a very young age. Thus sports are encouraged. Signup sheets with a multitude of options are (sometimes)literally thrown their way.

Some are tossed in the garbage; some are run over to a parent or guardian as fast as Usain Bolt. Either way, as one of the only physically disabled kids in the school (that I could see), most people had a choice as to what they wanted to do with that sheet. I didn’t.

Before I even got the paper, my hopes and dreams of being on a team were crushed, like most tennis serves at Wimbledon, fast.

My feet actually did touch the grass of a baseball field, but only with the help of a “ball person” — yes, that is a play-on-words for a person who retrieves the tennis ball after it is hit into the net during a tournament.

I can’t participate like everyone else because My reactions are such I might get hit with the ball if I did not catch it.

Remember The saying “a picture tells more than 1000 words” (made famous by Henrik Ibsen, a Norwegian playwright)? When I was a kid, it told the whole darn story.

My reality was different than my classmates. My dreams, not. Like many people in my age group at the time, I wanted to be a professional athlete.

I still remember thinking a kid on my little league team would make the majors. Not only that, thinking he was Shohei Ohtani — arguably the greatest player in baseball ever.

This kid seemed to be as tall as the Empire State Building. The chances are not that high that he did make it (although my brain is pulling on every cell to convince me otherwise.)

The chances of me looking up if he did: pretty high! (insert laughing emoji)

Everyone and anyway who stepped foot on any field or court lived out a dream I could only imagine; however, one day, my physical therapist (PT) and I were practicing my walking and running speed.

I broke a personal record (I think it was 30 feet in 10 seconds) enough to convince my mom and PT that I should try my feet on the track team.

I practiced for about three days, running around the whole track once. My mom saw I was exhausted, and after the second day, she told my coach to take it easy on me. I probably did not run more than 30 feet in practice once after and quit.

So, I used the body of this article to moan and grown about my very own. How about I turn the eggs sunny side up — hopefully, that frown will turn upside down!

Now at days, I look at things from “the other shoe.”

Sports are about the team and the people who celebrate with you. No game-winning hit can compare to “lacing them up with my team, “trying to play the cards I was dealt and “tying the loose ends” that cerebral palsy hands me every day, and when I “lace them up,” one by one, we have won the Super Bowl.

Dear Body,

I never know how to start letters.
I’d ask how you’re doing, but I’m happy to say I think I’ve finally a pretty good grasp on finding the answer to that.
For years I ignored your requests and even demands.
Thought you were too much and needed to be less.
Thought not eating would impress.
Tried to squeeze you into boxes you weren’t meant to fit in.
Tried to make you appealing to everyone but the one who was in your skin.

I can’t say exactly when the shift happened, or what changed my mind.
I think it was gradual, more like dawn than a light switch.
A slow burn of self love growing brighter as I worried less about the size of the stitches that made up my clothes and more about the person who filled them.

Instead of running from the mirror, I paused to Really look into it.
To sit and stare at the human within, and not shy away from certain parts.
To relish in the rolls, feeling each one with gratitude for how my body reminds me that I deserve all the space I take up.
To lounge with the looser parts of my skin and not feel the need to suck it all in.
To soak in the stretch marks and the story they tell of how I will not be contained.
To find each freckle and blemish and scar, to let them remind me of how I’ve come so far.

I’m sorry for the ways I have misused and abused you.
I’m sorry for the times I put you in a position to let others do that, too.
I’m sorry for how I starved you, even when you growled with hunger.
I’m sorry for how I then turned around and smothered you with food, while you silently pleaded for me to find balance.
I’m sorry for how often I told you that you weren’t enough.
I’m sorry that I truly believed you would never be loved.

You have taught me to choose you.
You are the only body I have, and I am grateful that it’s you.
You have led me through challenges and adventures that I thought people like me couldn’t get through.
You have opened my eyes to the fact that I am more than what other people view.
You have endured hatred and vitriol and strife,
And still,
You have held me more than any other person in my life.

Thank you.
Sincerely,
Me

Hey Girly.

Gosh. We’re going through some changes, aren’t we? It wasn’t too long ago that we could drink black coffee on an empty stomach, or devour countless Jack-in-the-Box tacos, or say “yes” to shooting tequila at midnight for the sake of shooting tequila at midnight. Nowadays we don’t even want to do those things because nowadays we respect our GI tract. We also never compromise on sleep. In fact, speaking of sleep, aren’t you glad we finally did that sleep study last year? I swear, I can’t even remember how it felt to sleep without our C-PAP machine. We may look like a cyborg, but at least we sleep like the dead.

Remember when the first gray hairs on our head appeared a decade ago? I’ll admit it: I was scared. We were only 26 and I didn’t realize gray hairs grew in that early. Moving our part from left to right helped for a while, but I think we ultimately did the right thing by going blonde.

26 was a big year, wasn’t it? We lost all that weight with those awful Jenny Craig meals, and everyone showered us with praise. Our calves and arms were sticklike, and our muscles disappeared, but we were told it was a good thing that we could squeeze into an extra small. Remember how some of the meals didn’t require being frozen? All we had to do was cut open the plastic pouch and squeeze lunch onto a plate. I swear, for the rest of our lives, I will never do that to us again.

Listen. I took us to that stupid clinic because I was convinced we weren’t good enough. I just…I had just had enough of people referring to us as “curvy” in a tone that made it obvious they were thinking of a different word. I was tired of feeling mom’s eyes on us every time our stomach spilled over our jeans. I was tired of dad’s jokes about the span of our hips, and I was tired–so tired—of being made to feel defective. This was 10 years ago, before anyone talked about “body positivity” or “self-love.” This was before brave souls stood up and said, “I’m fat and sexy and proud.” This was before I knew that loving myself—loving us—meant a heck of a lot more than shopping sprees and occasional massages. I had to learn to love us. I’m sorry I learned the hard way.

I’ll admit that for a little while, it felt exciting watching the number on the scale decrease. Every time it happened, I felt like we gained another degree of acceptability. 10 more pounds and mom will stop it with her looks. 15 more pounds and dad will quit it with the jokes. 20 more pounds and oh my gosh, we might actually be “pretty.” Of course, “pretty” didn’t quiet the voices inside that insisted we were still “defective.” No diet, however restrictive, was going to do that.

I remember when we hit our goal weight and officially entered the “maintenance phase”—a completely unrealistic part of the program where we were supposed to go back to eating real food without gaining back any weight. Hah. It took no time at all before that number on the scale crept back up. I remember the Jenny Craig employee looking at us with mild, but perceivable shock and disappointment. I yelled, “But I eat healthy!” What I wanted to say—and perhaps, what I should have said—was, “I love eating real food and I think I look just fine.”

We never officially quit Jenny Craig, but we also never went back after that appointment. After months of casual starvation, I wasn’t going to devote an hour of our precious weekends to recounting every single indulgence to a woman holding a clipboard. The whole thing ended quietly, and then the real work began: the real work of loving you, no matter what other people said.

I love that we gained the weight back. I love that we found a therapist. I loved when we joined that gym and learned how to throw around a kettlebell. I loved stepping out of the shower that one day and catching how swollen and shapely our biceps looked after months of training and eating right. I love that we’re no longer sticklike. I love that we are strong.

And poof, we’re 36. Our gray hairs are more abundant. The lines on our forehead are more pronounced. Our curves are softer, our skin is thinner, and the tequila bottle usually goes untouched. We are going through some changes, and I am so grateful to have you with me for the ride.

I love you.

The body can convey a marvelous snapshot of outward circumstance.
All the jumbled incoming information from the world,
Sorted through within us via entry our fingertips,
Our wandering eyes, our fiery nostrils, perky ears, and flirty tongues.
Whole experiences broken down, and their pieces subtly absorbed,
So that they can be reassembled in a space within our minds,
Or is it a place above our minds?

Nevertheless, the pieces sort themselves into pictures,
That come together frame by frame to form “whole experiences,”
Our own little movies in real time.
What’s more, I can
Feel
Everything

Indeed, the so-called cinema of my life.
I wouldn’t dare to call myself the main character,
For I know that much of life occurs in the third person perspective.
This life won’t allow you to forget that there are others living it with you,
So sometimes I play the side character in the background of other’s
Achievements, heartbreaks, and upgrades.

However, unlike in the movies,
The personhood of the side character doesn’t just cease to exist
In the luminous gleam of the person who’s more saturated in life’s thrills.
In certain moments, I too feel the limelight,
Like an internal compass directing my attention.
It’s not something I can mask either,
For the body often knows before I do.

Then, suddenly I’m met with the reality of the world outside
And the world inside of me.
And as often as they work in harmony,
They also sometimes don’t agree.

And as often as they work in harmony:

Yeah, the sweets of life are as tasty to the eyes
As they are to the tongue.
And every vertebrae in my spine moves
In a consecutive, synchronist fashion,
Conveying an embodiment of satisfaction.

I beg: share this masterpiece with me.
Touch me there on the small of my back,
And let your arms embrace me
I start to feel my body go slack, my heart beats with ease
And…man

Am I pulling you closer or are you pulling me?
Then, my nose starts to reach back to the top of my forehead
And I’m smiling into the smell of an atmosphere created by me and you.
The pads of my toes melt into the ground,
And my heels lift me up into an otherworldly celebration of body and soul.

I fall through ephemeral moment into lasting experience,
Except it feels less like a terrifying descent
And more like an ongoing embrace.

White clouds with the softness of giggles caress me.
Their delicate pecks graze the concave between my hips and just beneath my bust.
With the invincibility of water and the tenderness of flower petals,
They trace the curve in my legs, spine, and neck.
On the surface, my skin glistens in synchrony with the beat of a cinematic climax.

The comfortable fall to a jagged top with a dangerous descent
Prickles the sensitive places on my skin.
But, it’s the strangest thing:
because once it starts, I’ve no idea where and how it began
I have no idea what exactly it is I’m experiencing.
I’m familiar with this sensation though,
This feeling of falling uncontrollably.

Instantly, I’ve violently tumbled out of a scene of fantastical triumph,
Pictured in the perfectly entwined bodies of mind and soul,
And the social and intrapersonal,

And I’ve left behind my tittering clouds
As I crash through a barrier that escapes my grasp,
But it’s as cold as the silence after a well considered thought,
And it suffocates like my doubts that resurface uninvitedly.
It wrecks my body.

I’ve been here before.
I swear I’ve been here before.
And yet, my heart beats ferociously,
Banging against the restrictions of my ribcage
With the rhythm of a runner trying to escape from me.

Then my breath is taken captive and proceeds
Out of sync with the nervous shaking of my leg.
Suddenly, I’m too big and I’m taking up too much space.
A blood red spot light highlighting the individual performances of my limbs
Settles upon me, and suddenly I’m not a complete person.

I’m in pieces.

My body is wrecked, but I’m here.
Safely hidden behind this veil of courtesy,
But I’m here.
Behind this watery and impenetrable wall.
But I’m here.

And they are there.

Apology teases my lips
As the vile unseemingly rises up my throat,
My throat which burns like the fire that blazes on
Hot from the lies that keep our interpersonal relationships alive.

I taste the bitter heaviness of truth and blatant discomfort on my tongue,
But my lips are only stained with the sweet exchanges
Lacking the audacity to inconvenience and stir up the formalities of life.

The tint on my lips washes over the rest of my body.
It fills my ears to where I can’t hear actual words,
But can only fill in the sentences with conventional guesses.
My chest stains blue as I’m so desperately holding back the breath
I wish to set free
Though I fear my thoughts will chase the wind.

The stiffness in the air carries over into the stiffness of my red arms and fingers,
And oh, how my tailbone extends into the ground
As if I can root myself in this moment
But also fade into the background as the limelight wishfully gets smaller and smaller.

Momentarily, I’ve convinced myself that I can overcome this internal compass,
If I can pour myself out, unbeknownst to the world,
Into a box that keeps the heaviness off my tongue and neatly in the shadows,
So that I can then be filled with the plot lines of those around me.

I tame this body and its desire to escape,
And I sync my rebellious body to the experience at hand.

But, I mess up somewhere in the process of restraint.

The body often knows before I do.

And on the off chance,
Someone casts a set of flash-lit eyes to that shaking leg of mine.
And the words catapult like a life raft in the deep end:
“Are you okay?”

Body, STOP!!
Why did you betray me?

Then, suddenly I’m met with the reality of the world outside
And the world inside of me.
And as often as they work in harmony,
They also sometimes don’t agree.

They sometimes don’t agree,
But I also can force them to be
Because I’m too scared to make them stand feet to feet,
And therefore be face to face with the truth and weakness inside of me.

Am I okay?
Well, I guess sometimes I just have to be.
After all, life isn’t actually a movie,
And I can’t just skip to the next scene.
So, isn’t it better to skip the bothersome irregularities
In order to stick to social routines?

Well, I certainly thought my body would agree.
But, unfortunately my body has betrayed me.
And it has decided to instead push me toward honesty.

To my body:
I’m sorry
I’m sorry for everything
I’m sorry for being ashamed of you
I’m sorry for not trusting you
I’m sorry for putting you through hell
I’m sorry for holding you to the ridiculous standards of modern society

You were screaming
You were screaming at me to stop
You were screaming for more nourishment
You were screaming, crying for me to love you
But I couldn’t hear you
My ears were clogged with bullshit “goals”, with deep seeded hatred

I’m sorry for hating you
You didn’t deserve it
You don’t deserve it

You’ve put up with a lot
You put up with my stupid vices, yet
You make sure my vitals stay level
You’ve helped me truly understand balance
You’ve grown stronger
You’ve allowed my mind to open, to soften

And now I’m scared

I’m scared my hatred was too strong
I’m scared the damage is irreversible
I’m scared I’ve hindered your full potential
I’m scared as the thoughts come creeping back in and
I’m scared they’ll never stop
I’m scared and I wonder if you’re scared, too

I can’t say I’d blame you – but if you’ll have me – we can do this

Please give me one more chance
Please know that I’ll never go back
Please accept my apology, my unconditional love
Please relax, unwind, allow for this miracle
Please
I’m sorry
I’m ready