You probably just call it "your body".

Perfectly reasonable, if you ask me.

But lets engage in a thought experiment: Your body is now "The MeatSuit™"

Not because it is disgusting.

Not because it doesn't matter.

Actually, it is rather the opposite.

It is how you interact with and experience this life. 

Your bio-vehicle, if you will.

It eats.

It sleeps.

It heals.

It gets injured.

It experiences pain.

It produces hormones.

It gets old.

It occasionally does things without your prior approval.

You are allowed to observe your body in the moment.

You can notice your body changing.

You can notice your heart beating.

You can feel pain.

You can feel hunger.

You can notice anxiety and its effect on your MeatSuit™.

You can notice your thoughts.

You can even notice yourself thinking about the things you're noticing.

If that's the case, who is doing the noticing? 

Imagine you own a ship (we're still thought-experimenting here).

Over time, every piece of the ship is replaced.

At the end, nothing remains of the wood, metal, or fabric of the original ship when you first set sail.

But you've been her captain the entire time.

She's got the same name.

You know the history behind the vessel.

You still claim ownership of the vessel.

So what makes it the same ship?

The wood?

The shape?

The continuity?

The story?

The relationship you have with it?

This has been debated for a long time, now let's make this personal.

Your MeatSuit™ changes constantly.

The child you were is gone.

The teenager you were is gone.

The body you had ten years ago is gone.

The body you had five years ago is gone.

And the body you have today is not the body you'll have in ten years.

Yet in the midst of all that change there's a pervasive feeling and continuous experience:

"I am me."

We at NMMS find that fascinating, because that means your physical form and your experience of identity aren't quite as simple as they first appear.

We aren't asking you to believe that your consciousness is literally a ghost riding around inside your body.

We're not asking you to prove that souls exist.

We're not asking you to believe in astral projection.

We aren't asking you to subscribe to a particular religion or thought-system.

We're only asking you to try one last thought experiment:

"What if you stopped treating your body as the entirety of yourself?"

What changes?

You see your MeatSuit™.

Maybe you like what you see.

Maybe you don't.

Maybe today you feel fantastic.

Maybe today you feel like bootyhole after gas-station sushi.

Maybe you're bigger than you used to be.

Maybe you're smaller than you used to be.

Maybe you've aged.

Maybe you're scarred and bruised.

Maybe your body doesn't function the way you wish it did.

Maybe your body has betrayed you in ways you never expected.

The conventional reaction is:

"Something is wrong with me."

The MeatSuit™ perspective introduces a little distance:

"Something is happening with my body."

Subtle change, I know.

A profound and powerful one.

Your body isn't something to escape.

Your body is something to care for.

If you're driving and you get a flat tire, you don't throw the car in the trash.

If the engine overheats, you don't scream:

"This car is terrible!!!" (at least not as a solution, maybe initially)

You assess the situation.

You acknowledge the problem.

You get maintenance.

You adapt.

Your MeatSuit™ deserves the same compassion.

Your body is not your enemy.

Your body is not your entire identity.

Your body is your vessel and interface with the world.

And as such, you are responsible for taking care of this vessel.

DUALISM

Creates distance.

This body is something I experience. It does not necessarily define everything I am.

RADICAL ACCEPTANCE

Stops the fight.

This is the condition of my MeatSuit™ right now.

You don't have to like it.

You don't have to celebrate it.

You don't have to approve of it.

You acknowledge:

This is what is happening.

MINDFULNESS

Provides the pause to break your default thought-cycle.

Instead of:

My body is broken and everything is terrible.

You notice:

There is pain.

Instead of :

I'm a failure.

You notice:

I'm experiencing the thought that I am a failure.

And that tiny gap between the thought you used to have and a direct observation of what is actually going on gives you something incredibly valuable:

Choice

Not escaping your body.

Not hating your body.

Not pretending everything is wonderful.

Not denying pain.

Not pretending that mental illness doesn't exist.

Not replacing medical or psychological treatment with positive thinking.

It's all about recognizing a distinction:

You can experience something without being defined by that thing entirely.

Your body can hurt.

You are experiencing pain.

Your body can change.

You are experiencing change.

Your brain can produce a frightening thought.

You are experiencing that thought.

Your reflection in the mirror can change.

It's still you looking in the mirror.

And maybe that distinction gives you just enough space to breathe.

To observe.

To accept.

And then to choose what comes next.

Take care of it.

Don't worship it.

Don't hate it.

Don't confuse it with the entirety of yourself.

It's the vessel.

You are the Captain.

You decide how to navigate.