I look in the mirror and somedays I find my body unrecognizable. I see the curves, the way my belly button now sticks out just a little. I see the faint line that still runs down by stomach from being pregnant just last year. The toned abs that I had pre-pregnancy are now gone and have been replaced with a little “donut” as I like to call it.
I try to find some familiarity in this body of mine. Try to fall in love with it again. But behind all of that, I go to the gym on a regular basis desperately hoping that these little extra pounds that still cling on will soon just fade away.
These new curves are a part of me. They tell a story. Behind them was three children that kicked, squirmed, turned, and most importantly grew and developed into healthy little babies. I hold onto those memories every time I look in the mirror. Staring at it and the beauty of behind that I so desperately want to love.
It was happening. Little by little I was accepting. This was the new me, the better me. The me that has substance behind it. The one that has a purpose. I still continued going to the gym, but this time it wasn’t to fit into pre-pregnancy jeans, it was because I actually enjoy it. I looked in the mirror and I saw the beauty in it all.
And then last week all of that came crashing down. I went into the city for my annual doctor visit. The nurse asked me to step on the scale and I reluctantly did it. In the back of my mind I had an idea of what I weighed, but still avoided a scale at all costs. And then, as I stepped on, I saw this number staring back at me. It was a number I’d never seen before. A number I didn’t expect to see. So much more than the number that I had in my head.
I was devastated.
How did I feel so great about myself and my body and weigh this? It just didn’t make sense.
Despite how great I felt about the way that I looked and being comfortable in this body, this created a mental block for me. I just couldn’t see it anymore. All that I saw was that number.
For the past week, this has been weighing so heavily on me. I can’t find that happiness anymore. How can I let one number take away all of that joy?
I want to go back there again. To that place that allows me to see the story. The part of me that accepts that this is beautiful. This is the shape of motherhood.
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