Dear Creativity,

The creative-process phases, as I see them (based on the work of many other creative souls who’ve documented their own phases):
Everything is wonderful. I am wonderful.
Hmmm, this is harder than I expected.
Wow, this sucks.
I suck.
It’s still bad, but I think I can work with it.
This is wrapping up nicely. I might even be proud of it.
Hot damn, I’m finished. It just might be wonderful. Even if it’s not, it’s enough. I am enough.

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Dear Face,

Let’s talk about your rosacea.
I’ve been thinking of writing to you for a while about this, but I’ve put it off. Then yesterday, an acquaintance’s Instagram post about her own rosacea got me thinking more about your struggles.
I remember the shame I felt the first time I realized that strenuous exercise would turn you redder than hot lava. I was almost fourteen, and I was trying out for the high school cheer squad (team?). In addition to Lungs sucking wind because they weren’t used to so much intense aerobic activity, you flushed a deep purply red.

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I Am My Body

The phrase “you are not your body” is meant to remind us that our worth and value have nothing to do with our physical bodies. So true. We are inherently worthy.

But this phrase makes me cringe because I actually am my body. And my body is me.

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Dear Forearms,

The sensation created a synesthetic crackling that reverberated in my body. And of course, it’s left you tender and bruised. And also looser. And healing.

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Mica Gadhia’s Body Love Note

our bodies, just as they are, is community work.

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Dear Cervix

You’re an integral part of me, but I haven’t wanted much to do with you. Yet I find myself oddly grateful for you during this time of self-isolation.

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