A Diary to Mind, Body, and Spirit: The Cleansing

Dear Mind,

How emotional we have been over the years! I remember us crying over so many silly things when we were younger. Immature boys that I can’t even remember the names of or when we lost my favorite pair of earrings in the lake. What a weird time adolescence was. But we got through it, and you kept me semi-rational. 

I love the way you challenge me. Especially as I got older. We have had so many late-night talks under the quilts my great grandmother made me. Of course, they went into storage a couple of years ago to preserve the material, but I memorized the intricate patterns my grandmother spent years of her life to perfect. I like to think I got her creativity, the greatest gift she could ever give me. 

A creative mind can keep you occupied for hours, I like to think. You are a blessing and a curse. You keep me wandering in circles of self-doubt unable to flee at night. You also help me process my thoughts into words. I hate to love you sometimes.

I think sometimes you try to trick me, Mind. You say you're guiding me to the meadow, and I end up going over a cliff into a ravine. I like to think that you just made a simple mistake, but sometimes I’m not so sure.

Emotions are such a weird thing. Sometimes I wish they had an on and off switch. Like when I’m balling my eyes out in the bathroom at work can’t I just flip a switch and go numb? Sometimes going numb would just be easier than going crazy. But Don’t get me wrong, I love some of them. I think my favorite is love. Not necessarily romantic love, but a warm comfortable love. Like when you have a cold and stay home from school as a kid and your mom puts the heated blanket on you as you watch cartoons and eat chicken soup, that kind of love. You feel like all the pieces of your crazy, sporadic life are finally kind of falling into place. And then all the craziness starts up again like a slap in the face but you're still left with that ember of warm love.

I have found very few people that produce that warm love, so when you find those people make sure to hold them very close. 

One of my favorite qualities is actually how emotional I actually can be. It’s fun viewing the world through my emotions. It’s more colorful that way anyway. 

When I started to grow up, my emotions started to not be as vibrant. And that made me sad. I hated to love being emotional. It made me feel unique. I still let my emotional heart lead the way sometimes, but it’s kind of weird letting you step in more. Be rational sometimes. 

When I’m rational I feel like I have the personality of someone who likes math. 

But I know I have to start listening to you more because my heart makes bad decisions sometimes.

She’s impulsive and thinks at the moment like a careless teenager. However, I guess I listened to you sometimes. I hardly ever got in trouble as a teen. At least I was sneaky enough that my parents never found out. 

My beloved Mind, thank you for carrying me through heartache, laughter, and the dull moments. As we grow up together, I know that you will try your darndest to keep us both sane.

Yours always,

Ab

Dear Body,

When I was younger, I used to not look at you. Each crevice and ingrown hair made me feel like some creature from Out of the Silent Planet. I can remember when you first started growing leg hair. I was so excited to start shaving as Mom did. I can still see those thin, dark hairs that I thought were so unnatural for the pretty girls to have. I begged my mom to let me shave them off you, and she finally caved. As the razor glided over my untouched, porcelain skin, I felt myself exorcize childish things and step into the ecstasy teenagerdom. At least I thought I was being a teenager. All my older friends shaved, and they seemed pretty grown-up. That’s when I started to realize the ugliness of leg hair and being hairy in general. 

My idea of beauty became what I saw in the magazines as I stood in line at the grocery store or the gorgeous twenty-year-olds with the long legs I’d see walking out of the mall. Negative thoughts corroded my mind like a virus saying, “If I was as skinny as her, then maybe people would notice me more.” “I wish I had skin like hers. Then my life would be perfect and I wouldn't have worried.” Little did I know that those were models, and there is a thing called photoshop. And why would my life have better quality if I looked a certain way? I have issues no matter how I look.

I used to have a mindset that since I didn’t look like the pretty, skinny girls in my sixth class or the magazines I had less worth. Like beauty was the currency in a world of putrid ugliness.

But truth is, there are more important things than being in society’s “beautiful” club. 

I was a middle school girl. Of course, I wasn’t going to look like the ladies in the magazines. They were ten to twenty years my senior. And looking back now, I was beautiful in my age-appropriate way. 

When I got to high school, I realized that maybe there is more than one form of beauty. I started to pick out beautiful things about each person I came in contact with. Maybe the anorak girl in my math class that everyone bullies for being nerdy has beauty. As I looked at her, I realized the immense beauty she held. Her eyes sparkled whenever she laughed with her friends. Oh, and I adored her nose. It was unique and I fancied the way it came to a defined point. Lastly, her hair. It was the color of gold and it glistened when it hit the sun. Why didn’t those bullies notice those characteristics about her? 

People tend to look at the flaws in others before they even consider the unique beauty they possess. Everyone has beautiful characteristics. And it might not be society’s form of beauty, why should a fashion magazine decide what's beautiful or not?

Should the symmetricalness of my face determine my worth?

As I started observing people, I found that I had beauty as well. For example, I liked the way my feet looked. They are so small and pale. Almost like a fairy out of a storybook. I love the way my body started to curve like my mom's. I took pride in each arch as if they were crafted by a skilled potter. I was clay that was molded into a beautiful creation. I even appreciated the curves that were looked down upon. Like the rolls on my stomach. They were virtuous rolling hills in the countryside instead of tubs of flab materializing off my abdomen. I saw each feature on my body as perfect. And I would speak it into existence daily to remind myself.

I even took pride in that godforsaken leg hair. I know I’m hairy for a lady, and I used to foresee that as a curse. But now I know it's a blessing. The feeling of the hair on my legs; I feel empowered because of it. When people discourage me about my hairiness, I just simply tell them, “I like it, and that’s all that matters. Right?” They stand there dumbfounded for a second and then try to give some lousy excuse as to why I should shave it. I look at them and listen cordially, but in my mind, I simply laugh. Each forbidden hair follicle brings me newfound confidence I never knew I had.  

    It has taken me years to get to the point of loving you. Thank you, Body, for all you have given to me. I can eat food on a night out and not feel bad about it anymore. I can produce my own kids if I want them. I will try my hardest to treat you right, but if I fail you must know one thing. I'm finally in love with you. Each of your features is a new adventure waiting to be explored. 

    Yours always,

    Ab 

Dear Spirit,

You are the most mysterious among the three. I can hear your hum when I’m in a quiet room. I have felt you run chills up my spine when I’m deep in thought. But I have never seen your essence. That’s what makes me so intrigued. I look at my body every day. The hairs on my head tousled into a messy bun; my hands at work typing on this keyboard. Mind even shows me pictures of itself from time to time. Not like Body does, but in their own unique, sentimental way.

You are also different from Body and Mind because you haven’t always been with me. I can remember a time when you were foreign to me like a best friend you meet for the first time. You don’t realize it, but they end up meaning more to you than you could have ever imagined,

We met when I was twelve years old. I was stumbling through life trying to figure out who I was. As soon as you saw me, you picked me up in your big arms and helped me find my identity and what truly makes me feel.

Though we have never said a word to each other, I always feel your presence. I feel you when I look at the cattails that grow amongst the yellow flowers by the woods. You make my hands shake and my face becomes pale before a big presentation. You whisper sweet words in my ear as I hear guitar-playing love songs. My cheeks turn rosy as the singer’s voice turns to honey.

I don’t know why, but I think I cherish you most of all. You make me feel. 

Though your letter is the shortest of all, it doesn’t mean I don’t cherish you. We just simply understand each other better than I understand the others. 

 Each time you hum in my ear I feel less alien. I am finally alive.

Maybe You aren’t such a mystery after all.

 Yours always,

 Ab