A Love Story to the Body That Stayed

That if I loved myself more, tried harder, knew better, it would have left sooner.

But I was wrong. The weight stayed because it was asked to.

It wrapped itself around me like a loyal guardian, holding warmth where there was fear, cushioning places where life had pressed too hard. 

It stayed through seasons of exhaustion, grief that had no language, years when nourishment was rushed, and rest was postponed.

My body never misunderstood its assignment.

It stored energy when safety felt uncertain.
It softened its edges when the world felt sharp.
It learned how to survive before it learned how to release.

And all this time, I called it resistance.

One day, I stopped fighting.

I placed my hands where the weight lived and asked, not with anger, but with curiosity:

What did you protect me from? The answer was quiet, but it was honest.

I stayed because you needed me. So I began a new conversation.

I told my body we were safe now. That food would return again. That rest was no longer a reward. That I was no longer leaving myself behind.

I learned that letting go does not begin with force.
It begins with trust.

I let go by eating enough, not less.
By sleeping without apology.

By calming my nervous system instead of punishing it.
By moving in ways that felt like devotion, not discipline.

I let go by listening.

And slowly, as love replaced vigilance, the weight loosened its grip.
Not all at once. Not as a demand.

But as a thank you.

This is not a story about becoming smaller.
It is a story about becoming safer inside myself.

And when my body believes that safety is here to stay, it will release what it no longer needs to hold.

Until then, I love it exactly as it is.

With loving kindness, the soul of this sacred body, Teresa Raven Meyers.

1/21/2026