Your Body Tells a Story

Your body has always been on your side—are you ready to listen?

EDITION NO. 024

We don’t just wake up hating our bodies—we inherit stories.

Stories whispered to us in dressing rooms and doctor’s offices. Stories passed down through generations, stitched into the fabric of our childhoods. Stories shaped by the world around us, by the way eyes lingered too long or looked away too soon.

We carry these stories in our skin, in the way we shrink ourselves, in the way we measure our worth by numbers on a scale. And for so long, we believe them to be true.

But here’s the truth no one told us: we are allowed to rewrite them.

Healing begins not when we erase the past, but when we choose to tell a different story going forward—one rooted in self-compassion, in trust, in knowing that our bodies have always been on our side.

This is for the woman who has spent years believing her body was the problem.

For the mother learning how to stand in front of a camera instead of behind it.

For the girl inside of us all, still waiting to be told: you were never too much. You were never not enough. You were always, always worthy of love.

This is for her. For you.

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The Stories We Carry

For so long, you hated your body so,
You couldn’t hear the whispers it tried to show,
A quiet plea woven in skin and bone,
Marks and memories you wished unknown.

A child in the mirror, eyes wide with doubt,
The moment innocence began to bow out.
You learned your body was something to hide,
Swallowed shame, pushed hunger aside.

At school, the hallways hummed with stares,
You shrank yourself under their glares.
Each outfit, each glance, carefully measured,
Your worth tied to numbers, a prize to be treasured.

As a teen, you absorbed the lies,
Diet culture’s whispers in airbrushed disguise.
Magazines fed the ache to be small,
Each meal a battle, each bite a fall.

A bride who couldn't meet her own gaze,
Worried about judgment, the weight of the haze.
Vows spoken with love, but a heart held tight,
Fear eclipsing the joy of that night.

Then pregnancy reshaped the frame you knew,
Life growing inside, a wonder—but who?
Marvel at the magic, then grieve what is gone,
The echo of shame still clinging on.

Postpartum nights blurred into day,
Your body unfamiliar, shifting, in sway.
Stretch marks traced like maps on your skin,
A story of change—yet foreign within.

Motherhood turned you into a ghost,
Stepping from photos, avoiding the post,
Hiding behind cameras, swallowed by fear,
Missing the moments, drowning in tears.

Yet clarity came in your children’s eyes,
Searching for you in love, not in size.
Realizing the cost of your quiet retreat,
The weight of absence, heavy and deep.

Small, quiet rebellions became your way,
Reclaiming yourself in gentle display,
Stepping into photographs, daring to trust,
Softening judgment where shame once thrust.

Your body—resilient, loyal, and wise,
Held you through whispers, through countless goodbyes.
Scars once hidden now speak so loud,
A testament to survival—strong and proud.

Now scars aren't secrets, they’re lessons you’ve earned,
A story of courage in lines that have burned.
Proof that you lived, that you fought,
That healing is something time never forgot.

Lean in closely—hear this truth,
Your body’s story was never against you.
It has carried you forward, through dark and light,
Held you steady, through loss and fight.

With quiet rebellions, healing took root,
Choosing connection over shame’s pursuit.
Stepping forward, no longer unseen,
Motherhood cherished, your presence redeemed.

Scars now empower, they whisper with grace,
No longer hidden, they take up space.
Every curve, every line, a sign,
A map of survival—beautifully aligned.

You rewrite the story, you hold the pen,
Author of a tale where shame must end.
Shaping new memories, courageously clear,
So your children will see—love is near.

Embrace the narrative you wish to live,
Your body, your partner, with stories to give.
Trust its wisdom, surrender to truth,
You’re writing a story meant only for you.

Hold hope tightly, release past fears,
Your strength grows louder, courage sincere.
Breaking cycles with compassion and care,
Crafting new legacies—stories to share.

You are the storyteller, the keeper of keys,
No longer a prisoner—set yourself free.
We are not just what we inherit, the weight we bear,
Choose kindness, choose love—write the story you’ll share.

With love,

Crystal

“You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.” – CS Lewis