my legs
Reflecting on body self-acceptance
My legs ... I accept them as they are.
I accept them and, seven days ago in front of family — all thin and graceful — I said the words out loud. I referred to my legs as “tree trunk legs” because they are solid, stable, and rooted in the earth.
My family absorbed this revelation with empathy, although I imagine many anticipated my body acceptance problems — I grew up with a father who openly compared my legs to the Michelin Tire Man.
Later in the day, my nephew found me among the crowd of people at our family reunion. Waving an old photo of Grandma in the air with the excitement of a miner finding gold, he placed the photo in my hand and pointed to Grandma’s legs. “Tree trunks,” he said.
Grandma died when I was 10 years old. Nearly 50 years later, I see her legs are my legs. I see her fine, thin hair, her hooded eyelids, double chin, sloping shoulders ... she is beautiful in this package of body parts that I share and have wished away.
Could I really have inherited so much from her and not known for so long? Evidently, yes.
This awareness soaks into my heart. Outside, the forest floor absorbs rain, nourishing the trees with trunks that hold beautiful branches and leaves and keep them grounded and strong.
I am grateful.
