The Bridge I Burned Was Made of Skin
On Bodies: The Fires We Set and the Fallacy of Partnership
There are so many phrases that should be sentenced to death. This might be an unpopular opinion, but (there’s one of them right there) I’d like to scorch “having a good relationship with your body” like a marshmallow pressed to the coals.
“Having a good relationships with your body” implies reciprocity. Partnership. The careful negotiation of needs, mutual sacrifice, the work of avoiding conflict in pursuit of some higher emotional fulfillment. We’re told to court our bodies, to romance them into cooperation, to treat them like lovers we must continually appease.
But my body is not my partner. My body works for me.
This doesn’t mean neglect. I maintain it. I fuel it. I rest it when it needs rest. But the framing matters. I take care of my body the way my best friend’s dad used to take care of his old classic cars—not because I owe it devotion, but because it’s the vehicle that carries me through my life. When it functions well, I function well. That’s not a relationship. That’s maintenance.
And yet. Scroll through any feed and count the invitations to “heal your relationship with your body.” The wellness campaigns, the ad copy, the influencer confessionals. All insisting that peace of mind requires this ongoing, tender diplomacy with your own flesh. That you must journal your way to self love. That acceptance is a journey. That the goal is some soft-lit reconciliation scene where you finally forgive your reflection.
Who profits from that framing? Not you. The more your body becomes a relationship to manage, the more products, programs, and philosophies you need to manage it.
What if we simply stopped negotiating? What if, instead of submitting to the power of this sack of flesh we carry through life (because we do carry it, not vice versa), we went a little more dominatrix? No, not pressing its face into the ground with our heels or stubbing cigarettes out on its tongue. But what if we simply decided that our bodies work for us. We can keep them running like mechanics—and that is enough. And yes, if you want to wear a leather jumpsuit, by all means.
But no romance. No conflict resolution. Just function.
Maybe then we could improve our relationships with that which deserves it. Bright-faced children, daffodils in the spring, poetry. We owe it to ourselves, not our belly fat.
For your next draft: Consider how your speakers and characters relate to their bodies. Are they negotiating? Apologizing? Performing reconciliation? What happens if they simply refuse? There’s tension in that refusal, and tension makes for good writing.
Maybe even submit it to Coming Up Short: Bodies.
1,000 words or less.
We can’t wait to read your work.
♥️ Emma