I don’t think I’ve ever had a simple relationship with my body.
As a kid, I was thin. Nobody said much. I didn’t think much. My body was just… there. It did what it needed to do, and I lived in it without questioning it.
Then I grew up a bit and became pretty average in size. Still fine. Still normal.
And then the comments started.
About my skin.
About my weight.
About how I was “putting on.”
The strange thing is, I wasn’t even fat.
But it didn’t matter.
Because once those words are spoken over you enough times, they don’t stay outside. They settle in. And they start shaping the way you see yourself.
Somewhere along the way, my body stopped being something I lived in and became something I needed to fix.
And I think that’s where everything went wrong.
I’ve spent years treating my body like a problem.
Weight to lose.
Skin to fix.
Shape to change.
And when I couldn’t “fix” it, I’d swing the other way—no discipline, no structure, just giving up. And then the guilt would come back, and the cycle would start again.
Dieting. Starving. Restricting.
Trying different things. Failing. Starting again.
Forcing myself to work out, not because I understood strength or health, but because I felt like I needed to punish my body into becoming acceptable.
There was no kindness in it.
Just control. Or the lack of it.
If I’m being very honest, I don’t think I’ve liked my body for a long time.
And I know how easy it is to swing to the other extreme—this whole “love your body, no matter what, my body my rules” narrative.
But that’s not where I’ve been led either.
What I’ve been learning, very slowly, very imperfectly, is something quieter. Something harder.
Not self-obsession.
Not self-rejection.
But stewardship.
I've heard that verse, “Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit” (1 Corinthians 6:19), my whole life.
But I always heard it as pressure.
Take care of your body. Do better. Try harder.
Now it’s landing differently.
If this body is where God chooses to dwell… then I cannot keep treating it the way I have been.
Not with neglect.
Not with harshness.
Not with punishment.
And also, not with indulgence that ignores responsibility.
I’m realising that the way I was living wasn’t discipline, it was reaction.
Either I was controlling everything, or I had no control at all.
But godly care looks different.
It looks like eating properly, not starving, not overcompensating.
It looks like moving my body, not to punish it, but to strengthen it.
It looks like rest, without guilt sitting in the background.
It’s not dramatic. It’s not extreme. And honestly, it’s not always exciting.
But it’s steady.
And maybe that’s the point.
Romans 12:1 talks about offering our bodies as a living sacrifice.
For the longest time, I thought that meant denying everything.
Now I’m starting to see that it also means honouring what God has given.
Photo by Patricia Serna on Unsplash
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
