In recent years, the idea of “loving your body” has been everywhere. We are told that loving our reflection is the beginning of a healthy relationship with ourselves, that it helps us overcome shame, take better care of ourselves, and even lose weight.
But for many people, these words are not inspiring. On the contrary, they create a sense of helplessness.
“I try to love my body, but I don’t feel anything.”
“I look in the mirror and all I feel is tension.”
“There must be something wrong with me if I can’t even do this.”
If a person lives with Complex PTSD (CPTSD), this reaction is completely understandable.
The problem is not that they are not trying hard enough. Nor is it that they are “thinking incorrectly.” The ability to love your body cannot be created by force of will. It requires certain inner conditions. And these are exactly the conditions that complex trauma often destroys.
The body is not just appearance. It is the place where our nervous system lives. It is through the body that we experience fear, safety, pleasure, pain, shame, warmth, and connection.
If a person grew up in an environment of abuse, constant criticism, emotional neglect, or unpredictability, their body often became the place where enormous amounts of painful experiences were stored.
That is why many people with complex trauma do not experience their bodies as a safe place.
Sometimes the body feels foreign.
Sometimes it feels ugly.
Sometimes it feels like a constant source of tension.
Sometimes they simply wish they could stop feeling it altogether.
In that context, the advice to “love your body” sounds very much like asking someone to love a place where they suffered for a long time.
That is almost impossible to do through willpower alone.
There is another important reason.
Complex trauma is almost always accompanied by chronic shame.
Not shame about something a person did, but the deep feeling that “there is something wrong with me.”
And the body quickly becomes the primary target of that shame.
A person begins searching for evidence of their “wrongness” in their appearance.
Too fat.
Too thin.
The wrong stomach.
The wrong legs.
The wrong skin.
The wrong face.
Even when the body looks completely ordinary by objective standards, the inner gaze continues searching for flaws. Because the problem is not the body. The problem is the deep sense of defectiveness that developed much earlier.
Sometimes the body also becomes a constant reminder of the trauma itself.
It is where muscular tension is stored.
It is what reacts with anxiety.
It is through the body that panic responses emerge.
It is the body a person wants to hide.
So it is not surprising that warm feelings toward it are difficult to experience.
There is another important point that is rarely discussed.
Many people with complex trauma are largely disconnected from their bodies.
They struggle to notice hunger.
They struggle to recognize fullness.
They struggle to notice fatigue.
They struggle to identify their emotions, because emotions are experienced through the body as well.
When a person has spent years surviving, the nervous system learns to shut down part of the body’s signals. This helps them endure difficult circumstances, but later they may continue living as though they are slightly separated from their own body.
And if the connection with the body has become weak, where is love supposed to come from?
It is impossible to genuinely love something you barely feel connected to.
That is why many popular recommendations found online simply do not work.
“Look in the mirror and tell yourself that you are beautiful.”
“Repeat affirmations.”
“Tell your body words of love every day.”
If a person does not even feel safe being with their own body, these exercises may only create inner resistance.
And that resistance is completely normal.
Love rarely grows under pressure.
It develops where trust gradually begins to emerge.
That is why, in my opinion, people with complex trauma should not begin their healing journey by demanding that they love their bodies.
That expectation is simply too high.
Sometimes it is not even attainable at that stage.
It is far more important to rebuild connection first.
To begin noticing the body.
To understand its signals.
To learn what helps it and what harms it.
To stop constantly fighting against it.
To gradually develop greater respect for it.
And this is where something very interesting begins to happen.
When the constant battle with the body starts to fade, there is a little more peace inside.
When respect for the body’s needs appears, care naturally follows.
When care becomes a habit, trust between the person and their body slowly begins to return.
And love…
Love may come later.
Or it may never arrive in the way social media often describes it.
And you know what?
That is completely okay.
Because the goal of psychotherapy is not to make people experience the “right” feelings toward their bodies.
Its goal is to help people stop living in a constant state of war with them.
Sometimes that alone becomes the greatest healing of all.
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