photo by Glow Boudoir

You know those people who seem to have all the physical features you envy wrapped up in one glorious, flawless body? I had a name for those people or, more accurately, their bodies. I called them easy bodies. In my comparison addled mind, they were perfect. They had it easy. Please laugh at the absolute absurdity of this and be compassionate with yourself if you still frequent the comparison vortex. We all get pulled in from time to time.

Thankfully, I learned that having a certain body type doesn’t mean your life is more or less easy than someone with a different body type. I caught myself thinking she has such an easy body the other day about an acquaintance. And then I chose a thought I’ve never consciously chosen before: I have an easy body, too. Several hours later, I reflected on that thought and realized that an easy body means something totally different to me now. Over this past year, a term I used spitefully and with a tinge of jealousy and self-hatred has turned into a celebration.

What I see when I look at a woman with an easy body is not her actual shape, but rather how she inhabits it.

I see a woman sated by her life.
I see a woman deeply in love with every curve of her complexity.
I see a woman that takes pleasure in the rise of her hungers and relishes the adventure of feeding them.
I see a woman at home in the temple of her bones and blood.
I see a woman unafraid of surrendering.
I see a woman unapologetically honest about her needs, desires, values and boundaries.
I see a woman in passionate pursuit of her own heart.
I see a woman who has unbridled her joy.
I see a woman sure of her strength.
I see a woman creating the poetry of her soul.
I see a woman immensely gentle with herself and the world.
I see a woman set loose.
I see a woman awash in pleasure.
I see a woman awake.
I see a woman who uses her body as a compass.
I see a woman at peace.
I see a woman.

About halfway through that list, I realized I was talking about myself, too. That’s what I see when I look in the mirror. And it doesn’t matter if I’m having a crazy hair day or my jeans won’t button. All of those qualities and freedoms and breathtaking beauty are not contingent on my body type. They’re the outcome of self-love.

What do you see when you look in the mirror? And how does that view color the way you see other people?

Much love,
Hilarie Mae