Today I put shorts on for the first time this season. The stars aligned: temps finally got in the seventies, my legs, albeit ghostly pale, were somewhat recently shaven, and my pre-adoption pedicure was still holding strong. So I reached in the back of the drawer for my favorite pair of cutoffs: boyfriend fit, the perfect combo of stretchy and loose, big fray, just enough distressing. I pulled those babies on, but I swore I must have grabbed the wrong pair. These were not loose–they were now skinny fit. I had muffin top, muffin bottom, and even this new humbling low of distress-hole-muffining–please don’t need me to explain that one in any more detail. Admittedly I knew this was going to go wrong when I had to start the shimmy when they weren’t even half way up my thighs. If we’re being real real, I had already lowered the bar when I passed over the first four pairs in the drawer because I knew those sure as hell wouldn’t be boosting my self-esteem.
The winter fluff hit hard this year, my friends. As a Florida transplant I confess in eight winters up here, I still haven’t figured out how to stave off the cold weather weight each year. I’m not a gym person (and even if I were gym+childcare+DC inflation=a big fat NOPE). I’m used to being able to just head outside whenever I want and put in some miles on the pavement, the very flat and always heated pavement. And in the warm months here, that’s still my go-to. I curse every hill huffing the stroller up, then hold on for dear life as it pulls me down. But then those cold months hit, and I’m calling every runner running through their own icy breath an absolute lunatic. No thank you. And the last thing I want to do at 9 PM after getting all the kids to bed is pop in a P90X dvd and listen to Tony telling me to feel the burn. Netflix and laundry is calling, dude. And honestly, I’m not writing this searching for alternatives (but of course if the last few paragraphs have made you feel like my people and you’ve got a system that actually worked for you, lay it in the comments, sister.)
No, I’m writing tonight because when I did get those shorts buttoned this afternoon, I looked in the mirror and felt actual, physical disgust. I’m writing this because when my friend took this photo of us after one of the best days of our life, my immediate thought upon seeing it was “That one’s not getting posted”, and it had nothing to do with whatever weird ass shit Liam is doing with his feet. It had to do with the fact that even though I had 2/3 of my body hidden behind my husband’s and at a side profile, even though I had my arms under his, and my knees bent, even though I was leaning forward and she was shooting from above, even after all of those things, my eyes still zoned right into the multiple chins. I’m writing this because I can’t remember the last time I didn’t pick apart my reflection or my picture.
When the hell did I develop so many tricks to hide each insecurity?? When did my first instinct become to see imperfections over the joy of the photo, to keep my eyes trained on my face when I look in the mirror and not focus on anything below?? When did I become so ashamed of my body?? So frustratingly let down by my appearance?? My weight has without a doubt been the most enduring struggle of my life. I joined Weight Watchers when I was 11. I’d walk to meetings each week from my middle school, the youngest person in the room by 20 years, and often applauded for that. High school hit and I found myself on the volleyball team, with the least athletic build of the bunch. Those girls became my best friends, and I spent four years wishing for bodies like theirs or a faster metabolism or a chest size that at least matched the rest of my curves. Just always wishing for something different. Never appreciating what I had. Then college happened. My freshman year was marked by a deep grief, and my weight dropped to an all time low…and I reveled in it. (You’re sensing an unhealthy theme by now, right? K, good. Let’s keep going.) I see pictures from that time and can only see the hurt in my eyes, but back then I was blinded by the skinny waist and thin arms. From then it’s just been a yoyo. I found healing from my grief, found love with Liam, and found a late freshman-fifteen. I got skinny for the wedding; I ate my way through infertility depression; just a series of ups and downs and one constant: a lack of satisfaction.
But here’s the thing, in these literal decades of body image issues, I never got called fat once. I never felt shamed by a single other person. I put 100% of that guilt and burden right on my own shoulders. I was my only critic. And what I’ve realized more recently made it all even worse: I was a confident critic. I let my loud personality, my joy for all the other parts of life, my humor in the face of any difficulty, I let all that drown out the shame. So much so that I guarantee there are some of you reading who have known me for years and are struggling to believe I was actually feeling this way. But lately it’s come to a head in a way I know I can no longer ignore, and I certainly can no longer internalize. It feels like the yoyo hasn’t been on a downswing since motherhood. And that isn’t a coincidence. It’s this war in my head as I’ve never felt more aversion to my own reflection, and I’m immediately furious with myself for giving such little respect to this powerhouse that brought two children into the world, this beautiful creation of God–and we’re not even going into the guilt that comes from not honoring His work.
But that’s where this all boils over: those two beautiful perfect girls that this body grew. I have never felt more confident in my body than when I was well into my pregnancy with each of them: belly round, breasts full. So how is it the minute those empty, I find myself on the opposite end of that spectrum: more uncomfortable and ashamed than ever? That is not okay. I never in one million years would want them to feel even a minute of this struggle. I never want them to feel even an ounce of this shame. I want them to be proud and confident in every pound of flesh on their bones. I want them to feel the power and might that is womanhood. And I know without a doubt, that starts with me. I know the power I have to shape their minds, and the thought of passing this insecurity onto them is my greatest fear. So I vow to change. And I’ve learned that real, lasting change can never happen if I’m only trying to drop that yoyo. I must love myself first at whatever the weight. I must feel pride and gratitude and worth for every pound of flesh on my own body: for my loose belly, covered in stretch marks, for my breasts that fed both of them, for my arms that carry them each day. I must treat myself with kindness and acceptance in this moment, rather than resentment and an expectation of change. I must see this body through lens of reverent respect. That’s the kind of self-care I’m working on right now: SELF-LOVE. And if you’re fighting the same fight, sister you are not alone. You are loved. You are cherished. You are worthy. You are beautiful. You are strong. You are a glorious work of God. And I am here to believe that for you and speak those words to you until you know them to be true.
First you’re gorgeous and a mother I look up to. I am a mom of two and I have had all those feelings and more. I wanted to find some routine that wasn’t freaking Beachbody workouts or cardio. This isn’t a sales pitch btw there’s nothing to sell lol. I’m just sharing because it literally changed me. I was nervous because I had to start slow and it meant being surrounded by big muscle dudes. I started lifting weights. And I actually got to the point where I had to find ways to fit in more food. I eat 2300 calories a day and only do cardio twice a week for 15-20 min. Now don’t get me wrong I don’t magically like working out. I’d love to sit around and not do anything all day and I don’t believe anyone who’s like in love with fitness lol. Guarantee they don’t have kids lol. But I do want to be healthy and this is the first type of exercise that actually kept me interested and continued it. Its not a quick fix it takes alot if time but I have dropped like 40-50lbs and have kept it off. Just thought I’d share in case you wanna try something totally different to keep the boredom at bay. Look up people like heidi somers, Katie corio and Cass Martin.
From one mama to another ❤️