Body stories are largely missing from the zeitgeist of our time. We are often reluctant to dive into our body stories because we believe they are too taboo to share or too boring to be of interest or value.
In Reclaiming Body Trust, we shared body stories of those who have defied the standard narrative of body apology, instead demanding care and deep respect. These stories, once unearthed, encouraged others to share theirs, too.
REFLECTIONS ON MY BODY TRUST JOURNEY WITH SIRIUS BONNER
“My body is a library of memory, a living archive of survival, love, and legacy.
From first learning I was Black when my father had to explain why the kid at the playground called me the N-word, to first learning I was fat when my 5th grade crush called me a “fat pig” when I beat him at handball, my body has been hyper-vigilant of the limits put on it by the world outside of my body.
It carries my mother’s laughter as she responded to the joys and sorrows of life with a unique mix of sincerity and cynicism. It carries the echoes of my Aunt Mimi’s voice, the rhythm of her stories woven into my bones. It carries my father’s deep intellectualism and passion and excitement when expounding on one of our special interests. It holds the weight of my own words, the ones I write and rewrite, reclaiming space for Black women, for queer voices, for magic that refuses to be forgotten. My hands have traced pages filled with the stories I longed to see as a child—the ones where we existed in power, in softness, in full humanity.
My body knows the exhaustion of too many roles, too many responsibilities. Executive Leader. Entrepreneur. Mother. Partner. Advocate. Artist. It has stayed up late meeting deadlines, woken up early to care for those who depend on me, moved through days with a strength that feels both unyielding and fragile at once.
This body has carried love, held my child close, soothed tears—mine and theirs. It has weathered the weight of expectations, of systems that try to mold me into something smaller, something more palatable. But I refuse to shrink. My body is not disposable. My story is not one that can be erased.
It has survived scrutiny, internal and external. The way capitalism asks me to produce more, do more, be more, and yet offers so little in return. The way the world polices Blackness, femininity, queerness, demanding explanations, justifications, performances of worthiness.
But my body is mine. It is home. It is the altar where I honor my ancestors. It is the vessel through which I mother, create, resist, and dream.
I am not the story they made of me.
I am the story I choose to write.
And I am still writing.”
~Sirius
Collectively, we need to hear more body stories of others in order to feel less alone in our own. If you’re open to sharing your body story, we invite you explore our body story prompts and submit your own story here.
Your story has the power to change how we regard all bodies. Thank you for telling it.
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I was born to a woman who had nearly zero power, and a man who had a problem with rage. Throughout my childhood I witnessed his brutal attacks on my 3 older brothers. The week I turned 3 he beat me black and blue, angry with his aunt who had told him not to spank me.
When I was young, I remember running through the fields in the country, feeling the summer wind on my face. I remember the feeling of freedom, eating wild berries or picking carrots or sugar snaps from the garden if I got hungry, only coming home for lunch and dinner, roasting marshmallows over the fire at night.
“Full Circle
Welcome to the Enchanted Body Trust Forest
It is cool and calm here, but also warm and welcoming
We are a Fat Friendly Space, like Cat Pausé’s Friend of Marilyn Podcast ♥