She Betrayed Me: The War I Waged with My Body
- The Broken & Beautiful
- Sep 25
- 3 min read
Updated: Oct 15
The War With My Body
I hated my body. She had failed me, and I wanted to quit her.
All she gave me was pain, ailments, mystery symptoms, and emotional outbursts I could not control. The number of times she surprised me in a day was overwhelming. Rashes flared like the most disorganized clockwork. Tears spilled daily, without warning, without reason. Aches, pains, malfunctioning organs, surgeries, exhaustion. And then—the released pregnancy at twelve weeks—that was the final straw.I gave up on her.
Nothing showed up on tests, nothing could be explained by professionals. But I knew. She was done. What I didn’t know was why.
I had lived “healthy” for so long—replacing soda with water, processed food with whole, cooking from scratch, choosing organic whenever possible. And yet… she had had enough. The mystery of why haunted me. No energy. No peace. Just a march into another day filled with unknowns and betrayals.
The Turning Point
Then came a realization about my most intimate relationship: abuse. Mental and emotional torture. Suddenly, it began to make sense. The word settled over me like balm pressed into a deep wound.
And yet—this was emotional. This was psychological. There had never been a strike, never a bruise.
For the first time, I began to understand the mind-body connection. We cannot separate the “parts” of ourselves from one another. Everything is connected.
A feeling produces a thought. A thought produces a sensation.The body responds to words. The soul absorbs emotional blows.
My whole being was woven together: mind, body, soul, spirit. Each thread tugged on the other, entangled, inseparable. My body carried the truth long before my mind could name it.
So I began to listen. To get curious about her outputs, her signals.
From the simplest: I am thirsty.To the most complex: Why does a conversation make me feel like I want to die?
I listened without judgment. I noticed how often I lacked even the language to name what I felt. I learned. I practiced. I failed. I tried again. And it was hard—so very hard.
But over time, I began to trust her. Every signal told a story—of my past, my present, or the future I was projecting. I believed her. I cared for her. I began to give her not only what she needed, but sometimes, even what she wanted.
I began to feel—everything. Some sensations were beautiful. Others unbearable. Mostly because I had locked them away for decades.
But slowly, trust was built. Between her and me. She told stories I was finally ready to hear. I proved that someone cared for her, that she could be safe again, even after the deepest danger. We practiced regulation—alone and with others. We forged an alliance of growth and consistency.
The Reunion
At last, we were ready to build on our foundation. Rehabilitation gave way to expansion.
The good stress of life changes. Exercise beyond yoga. New relationships. Hard conversations.
Once, these things would have felt like death to my body. But now? They were intense, yes. Hard, yes. But I could find safety again—sometimes even in the middle of the storm, and often, soon after it had passed. What once took weeks or days now only took hours. Safety was wired into my body. She remembered.
And it felt like a miracle. Inflammation softened. Excess weight released. Sleep stretched into full nights. Memory returned.Emotions rose and fell within me, but I no longer drowned in them. Every day is a new experience.
The more I live with my body, the more I realize she was never my enemy. She is my most faithful companion. She deserves kindness, care, and compassion for all she has endured, and for the steadfast way she continues to carry me.
I love her now. She is me, and I am her. We are living—and thriving—together.
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