There’s something they don’t tell you about these bodies we inhabit. They can become the heaviest chains we carry, or they can be the very wings that help us soar. I’ve seen it time and time again – in the young ones who hunch their shoulders trying to disappear, in the beautiful souls who avoid mirrors, in the blessed ones who curse what others call gifts.
Some carry their prison inside, built brick by brick from every harsh word, every sideways glance, every moment they were made to feel they didn’t belong. The walls go up slowly: first you stop dancing, then you stop laughing so loudly, then you learn to make yourself small. The body becomes a cage built from other people’s expectations and judgments, reinforced by our own doubts.
Even those who seem to have won the lottery of appearance often find themselves trapped in a different kind of cell. When your body becomes your currency in this world, you become a prisoner of preservation, forever fighting the natural rhythm of time. Your worth gets tangled up in something as fleeting as morning mist.
But here’s the truth I’ve learned from watching countless souls make their journey: liberation begins in the smallest moments. It starts when you feel your feet planted firmly on the earth and remember that you are part of something larger than yourself. It grows stronger with every breath you consciously take, every moment you choose to be present in your skin.
This journey back to ourselves – it’s like finding your way home after being lost in the dark. The body holds a wisdom that goes bone-deep, a knowing that was there long before the world told you who you should be. It speaks in whispers of hunger and fatigue, in the surge of joy that makes you want to dance, in the tears that need to flow.
Liberation comes when we understand that our bodies aren’t just vessels for our spirits – they’re the bridges that connect us to life itself. They’re how we embrace those we love, how we lift others up, how we create and build and heal. Every mark, every curve, every supposed flaw tells a story of survival, of resilience, of life fully lived.
The secret is this: our bodies were never meant to be perfect – they were meant to be lived in. When we finally make peace with them, when we return to them with kindness, they transform from prisons into sanctuaries. They become not just a home for our own healing, but a source of strength from which we can serve and lift up others. In this way, what once confined us becomes the very thing that sets us free.