We wear them and are in them. We are comfortable or uncomfortable in our skin, our bodies. 

They carry us, these bodies. And we own them, have them. We hate them, pamper them, punish them, reward ourselves through them. 

But are we IN them? Do we POSSESS them? Or are they us, one and the same, body and mind as one? 

The more unhappy I am with this body, in this body, the more separate I feel from it, the less I want to claim it as my true self and the more I want it to be something I have and can fix and work on. Like feelings. I have feelings. Feelings are not who I am. My body is not who I am. But maybe it should be. If the link were tighter, if I felt closer to my body, maybe I would love myself more. Maybe I would take better care of my whole self if I embraced taking care of my body as taking care of me, someone who is important. 

I tired out a massage therapist today with the things my body is always carrying around. She couldn’t keep going and had to stop because the tension I hold was too much for her to continue working through. It’s less now, but it’s still there. I don’t blame her. I don’t blame my body either. Sometimes things are too much.