Having a Body

I’m writing this blog to anyone who has a body.


Anyone with a heart, lungs, and a brain.

That’s really the baseline requirement for this whole human experience.

Legs and arms? An incredible bonus.
They bring so much extra pleasure, the ability to walk, dance, bike, hike. To hug and hold, to write, to wave.

These human bodies of ours are wildly unique. It is incredibly unlikely this exact composition of cells will ever exist again.

This earth took over 4 billion years to form, and everything that has ever happened had to unfold exactly as it did for you to be here, in this body, right now.

I think about that often.
It’s kind of mind-blowing.

And unless AI does something truly wild, this is your body’s only shot at being here like this, its only chance to taste sweet potato fries, feel live music in your chest, fly down a hill on a bike, see a rainbow, or touch someone you love.

Yes, this has all been said before.
But have you really let it land?

Science tells us energy doesn’t die, it changes form. Maybe whatever animates this suit of blood, sinew, and bone continues on in some unknown way.

But this body?
This one doesn’t.

It will return to the earth. Compost. Stardust.

So why are we so hard on it?
So unforgiving. So chronically unsatisfied?

Why does it feel like so many of us walk around quietly at war with the very thing carrying us through this one wild, fleeting life? (A nod to Mary Oliver right there.)

Why is it so hard to honor our bodies as perfectly imperfect vessels of thought, feeling, and movement?

These questions matter to me because I’m trying to cultivate more peace. The world is chaotic in ways I can’t control, but maybe I can create a little more acceptance and curiosity within myself and let that ripple outward.

Because here’s the thing: I’m not speaking from the sidelines.

I’m an aging woman in a youth-obsessed culture.
And I also have an incredibly rare condition (fewer than 100 known cases) that causes facial disfigurement, with no clear treatment.

So I’ve had to come face-to-face (pun fully intended) with my beliefs about beauty, attractiveness, first impressions, and where I locate my worth.

Some days, one of my eyes is nearly swollen shut.

And still, this experience has been eye-opening.

I’m sharing this because I want you, our Love U community, to know your body is precious, and your innermost being is not flawed.

Can we start a quiet revolution?

One where we question where our worth comes from.
One where we notice how often we participate in tearing our own bodies down.

Because we are the culture.

It’s not just out there in media or magazines, it’s in me when I fixate on the jowls that are slowly forming on my face. It’s in me when I suck my stomach in. Every small moment reinforces the bigger system.

And that system? It’s getting louder.

People in their 20s are already trying to prevent aging.
Prevent aging.

Will we reach a point where no one even knows what a naturally aging face looks like? And…why is that the goal?

In 2025 alone, over $55 billion was spent globally on anti-aging products.

Just pause on that.

I’m not saying this to shame anyone. Truly. I’m right in it with you.

I henna my hair every six weeks because I’m not ready to be as gray as I am. I’m on HRT hoping to hold onto muscle a little longer.

I’m not above this.
That’s exactly why I’m writing this.

Because I don’t want to do this alone.

What would it take to be brave enough to just grow old?

To care for our bodies, move them, nourish them, rest them, connect with others, but soften our grip on looking young while doing it?

I’m convinced a core part of being human is learning impermanence.

Everything changes.
Our thoughts, emotions, preferences… and our bodies. Period.

There’s a saying: Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.

Change can be uncomfortable, sometimes deeply painful, but it doesn’t have to become suffering.

What would it look like to accept aging instead of fighting it?
To be in relationship with change instead of at war with it?

Is anyone else interested in gathering under a different banner?

I know nothing changes overnight.

Maybe we still catch our reflection and critique.
Maybe we still reach for the gray coverage or the serum or the comparison.

But maybe, just maybe, we also start noticing.

Noticing when we turn against ourselves.
Noticing when we soften instead.

Maybe we interrupt the pattern, even briefly, and remember:

This body is not an object to perfect.
It’s the place where your life is happening.

And it won’t be here forever.

So what if, instead of spending all this time trying to make it look right…
we let ourselves actually live in it?

As it is.


While we can.