Every day is unfamiliar with some aspect of my body changing. Yesterday it was the eyebrows…today the eyelashes…last week the hair…tomorrow only time knows. But with each passing moment, I’m learning to fall in love with my body – again and again.
It’s not the perfect body by no means. Cellulite clings to it like a koala to a tree. Scars adorn as if it were Christmas. Hair falls like a summer rain and pain explodes as if it were the 4th of July.
Less time is spent facing the mirror as there are days my eyes cannot absorb the changes but I’m forced to look. Remembering myself pre-surgery, pre-chemo… fades…gradually…the memories distancing themselves as a reflection eventually vanishes in the water. Tears long to flow when I catch a glimpse of “me” but the reservoir is too dry.
“Call me chameleon” whispering to myself. Seven weeks…at least seven changes…seven mindsets. And seven days of the week with self love – the only love – that can hold this vessel together.
But maybe it had always been this way. Lines gently forming, gravity tugging my skin, grey hair slowly emerging. The chameleon more subtle but nonetheless adapting.
And now, asking myself why a disease, challenge or any amount of adversity would alter the test that consistently battles within? A simple answer – it hasn’t.
For it has always been me versus me…and no one else.