Category: Essays

She became broken and fractured from the weight of her own despair, only to find embers of light illuminating her soul. Darkness still lurked; parts of her body were still buried in debris. Some wounds were too deep to be unearthed. Her body was like a river, water was beginning to flow again. The dam would burst soon and she would be forced to look at what she feared the most. 

Surita Jhangiani

S: Dear Body, how do I read you?

Body: In all the wrong ways. I wish you loved me like your utopian ideals. Why can’t you love me, like you long to be loved? Can’t you see the irony?

S: I do now, not before. I think I love you, but then I never acknowledge you. I bless my health, but never a word of acknowledgement for what you offer me.

Body: but what about the body that makes this all possible (your good health)? Did you ever think about me? You just poured your hate onto me. Hating the way body moves and looks. Never being grateful for the sustenance we give you. You pick at each part of your body with such contempt.

You’re as critical of me as they were of you. You’ve transferred their warped perceptions to me, your body.

Step back for a moment and realize all the hate that you give to me. Why? We will never be good enough, just like you will never be good enough for your critics. Why do you let their perceptions become your own?

S: the separation is too painful. It requires an examination of what lurks in the shadows, all the parts I’ve hidden, the ugly things…

Body: what are these ugly things dear child?   The war you battle is deep within you. Stop looking around and look within.

Once you accept us, you accept you. Love us

S: I’m sorry. I’ve been shallow and self-absorbed.

Body: there you go again berating yourself. When will you learn? Accept and love you. This is not a shaming, but a realization of how you see your body is a reflection of you. Stop being ashamed of who you are, of your desires, of your body.

Your body is your house, a vehicle to move you forward, to help you achieve your dreams. Hating yourself will only bring your demise in the form of disease. We are to work in unison. Don’t you SEE? We can help you achieve. Love your body. Love us deeply woman. Your body is your house, your history, and your future. You cannot abandon your growth. Growth is nothing if you lack markers for what was. By rendering your us invisible, this is exactly what you do. Look back at the past with loving compassion.

Tell us how you love us now. Truly love us. Be in your body, feel your body, what does it say?

S: my body is supporting me each step of the way. Nurturing me and giving me strength to move forward.

My brain is helping my soul fuel its purpose.

Body: love your mind. You neglect all we give you. We work with you not against you. It’s you who have planted seeds of discontent and watered them. We allowed them to grow for you nurtured them with diligent obedience.

You realize how easily you can shift your mind. Look at all the changes you have made. You did this within a moment’s notice.

That’s the power of your mind. Love us too.

Love your height, it allows you to see the world in a way that is unique to you. You are tall when you believe in yourself and you walk and speak with confidence. Your truth is tall, as is your wisdom. You are cringing as you write this.

Why can you only speak ill of yourself? What is the harm in recognizing the good? You are here to break patterns not absorb them.

We are not done talking to you, listen!

Love each part of you. When hate arises look at it deeply. Do not allow the wounds of your past to dictate your future. Come into your soul, the truth lies there.

Your search for the truth is housed in your body. The key is loving the body you have, loving you, and all else will follow.

Love Us

Our lives are filled with stories, many of which limit our potential. These stories were never ours nor should we be the purveyors of them. Let them live in the past that birthed them. They are not ours to breath life into. They never were. 

She became broken and fractured from the weight of her own despair, only to find embers of light illuminating her soul. Darkness still lurked; parts of her body were still buried in debris. Some wounds were too deep to be unearthed. Her body was like a river, water was beginning to flow again. The dam would burst soon and she would be forced to look at what she feared the most. 

What is the point of a woman? 

In whose light were we created?  

we are classless citizens roaming the earth. 

Our bodies are not our own. Our minds are to be silenced. 

What are we?  

Why would anyone create a being with agency, but without agency? 

It’s a cruel joke 

You can achieve, but you cannot 

Live in state of constant flux and contradictions 

This world is not meant for you, but this is a place you must inhabit 

What is the point of a woman?  

It’s a cruel joke  

to bring a woman into this world with a tongue and an intellect 

For she dwells in a world were neither are recognized 

 How do you read my body?

You don’t. my body has been inscribed by the past that I hold no memory of.  Your reading of my body is a reading of the privileged of this world. My journey is buried beneath. Fragments may appear, but the inconsistencies wash away, and the grand narratives of our society continue to write their stories over my own. I was born in hope and grew into despair. I came to a place in my life where I thought it better not to appear, to disappear. Who would care? The world would carry on. One less mistake, one less burden. That is the beginning of my story.   

I came to this life and breathed sweet freedom. I was free to be. I was allowed to be. I cherished the quiet, loved high fashion. Sought out nature and peace. Tranquility greeted me. These were my early years. Then adolescences came and the clutches of society followed. An education for you? No, no. Not needed. Work hard, you will be okay. This was the life you destined for me? A life of servitude? Without an education you handicapped me. Left me reliant on others. Trapped and caged you sold me away. You shed tears of regret, for somewhere deep inside you knew what you did. But for the moment you painted them as tears of sorrow for another sweet child has left the nest. There ends your story of my life. In your mind I lived happily ever after. Any thought that things were not as they seemed were swatted away like flies. It’s easier to swat away thoughts that disturb the façade we have painted of our lives, than face a reality that brings into question the foundation you have built your life on. You had a role to play in what followed. Blind ignorance is what you sought. So, you toiled away your years in blinding beliefs and narratives that you did the best you could. But for whom?

I want to cry for all the dreams that could never be, for all the ideas that never came to fruition. For all the countless nights that I spent dreaming of who I would be, what I’d create and where I’d go. There was so much passion, so much drive, and it all came to a silent halt. For what? For whom? Did my sacrifices, no, did our sacrifices create a better today?   

Why was I so naïve to believe what the world fed me? That I am here to serve the needs of others, to mother and nurture, but never nurture my own desires?  Why did my tribe continue with a belief system, a way of being, that no longer served us? Why did my tribe tell me to be a good girl? A good girl, who never made any noise, was never seen, nor spoke, and least of all, never, ever, thought. Live within your confines and all will be well. But for whom? I followed years of tradition with muted obedience. I took care of others. As women we have no desires, no aches, we just continued to serve. Allowing our bodies to be define by patriarchs. Obedience was our only means of goodness, but even that would fail us. I was bright, I could have been something. Instead I chose the good girl trap.

Why did I take this all in? Why did I let these false beliefs create my foundation? A foundation that kept me small, and continues to haunt me. I can never be truly free of the seeds that were planted in my past, despite my desire to go forward, they sneak into my thoughts, bringing doubt when I most need my strength.  

Whose seeds have we continued to sow? The investment and expense is our labour; the cost is ours alone to bear. The distributor of the seeds simply scatters them and allows them to sprout where they please, including in our tribe. Don’t be fooled, you’re not better than us, you are us. You complete the work of our patriarchs, the agronomists, who have divided women, pitted us against one another. You are the seeds that sprout. You quickly accept your place and alleged privilege, and believe in binary tales. no one is better than rest.