I’m sure you’ve heard of The Serenity Prayer, and its use by Alcoholics Anonymous as a mantra for positive change and inner peace. I’ve recently given up drinking (36 days and counting!), although I’m not an alcoholic, nor an AA member, and I’m not doing the 12 steps. The poem simply popped into my mind when I thought about my shift in attitude towards my body and health in recent years, and how I’ve subconsciously been applying the premise of this verse to my life...
Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...
As a child I was unaware of any faults my body might have: it worked, and that was that. My super-long legs carried me around the playground with efficiency, my constitution was strong, my voice loud (perhaps a tad too loud, I was later told). I was energetic, hardy and vibrant and had the scabbed knees and fading bruises to prove it.
A fleeting interest in ballet and tap dancing ensued as a gangly pre-teen, before the self-consciousness and insecure naval-gazing of puberty put paid to that. All the leotard-clad twirling and prancing happily in front of a mirror screeched to an abrupt halt, replaced by the rather less wholesome activity of casting a critical eye over my ever-changing body, grabbing at bits I felt shouldn’t be there. I was selected for cross-country championships running for Kent, which I excelled at for a time, before succumbing to more self-destructive pastimes like drinking with my pals in the park and chasing unsuitable boys.
Fast forward to my mid-twenties, when life threw me my first major health-related curveball, one which would affect the rest of my life in more ways than I could have imagined: pre-cancerous cells on my cervix, discovered during a routine smear test. No big deal, I thought, just get them removed, tout de suite.
Only then the curveballs starting coming at me thick and fast, like tennis balls firing out of an automatic ball launcher, and I couldn’t hit them away quickly enough.
Throughout the next decade, I often felt like my body had let me down: gynae surgery, infertility, more surgery, premature ovarian failure, failed fertility treatment (I was labelled a ‘poor responder’ to IVF), yet more surgery and then, finally, after years of stress and NHS cock-ups, the diagnosis of premature menopause and being faced with the harsh reality of never becoming a mother. I hated myself, and the body that I felt had let me down. My marriage ended. I was at my lowest ebb, my self-esteem on the floor. I probably rated myself a 3 out of 10 on a good day.
I was angry, sad, and confused as to how my life had ended up this way. I was not willing, ready or able to accept my fate.
The courage to change the things I can...
Slowly, slowly, over a long period of time, I experienced the full spectrum of human emotions, ranging from poker-hot fury and injustice, to silent, sobbing, grief - until I gradually came to terms with my circumstances, began to accept my situation, and forgive this faulty outer shell. I recognised that everyone suffers hardship and tragedies in various forms throughout their lives, and it’s how you deal with them that counts. Instead of focusing on what I’d missed out on and lost, I began to feel gratitude, and appreciate all the amazing things my body HAS been able to do for me instead: travel the world, dance, love, earn a living, work hard to buy property and support myself, live a fulfilled, independent and interesting life.
So instead of hating my body, I started to reward it: I gave up smoking, started exercising, eating more healthily (well, most of the time!). I cut down on bad habits and started taking more care of myself. Most recently, I’ve given up drinking. I’ve stopped punishing myself with a steady drip-feed of poison. Self-flagellation has been replaced by self-care. And my body is thanking me for it: I’m fitter, happier and healthier than ever - both mentally and physically.
...And the wisdom to know the difference.
Like anyone, I still have down days. The ‘back to school’ photos currently flooding my newsfeed are a constant reminder of the family I’ll never have. But these days I acknowledge that although I may not be able to change my situation (I will always be a childless woman), I can change the way I view it. And that mental shift then leads to a whole host of positive changes.
My new physique may not be to everyone’s tastes, (2 stone lighter and athletic in build), but when I look in the mirror this morning I see the body of a strong woman, physically and emotionally, who has faced adversity and come out fighting.
I have accepted the things I cannot change,
I change those that I can,
and am finally wise enough to know the difference.
I have been granted serenity, at last. I have a level of inner peace I’d never have thought possible until recently.
And my rating?
I give myself Zen out of 10.
Sam x
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