As I reflect on the evolution of my body over the years, I realize it’s been a complex and at times tumultuous journey. From my teenage years, when identity and body images were heavily shaped by societal standards and peer comparisons, to the present day, where wisdom and acceptance play lead roles, I’ve traversed a rocky path. In my youth, I grappled with labels like “big boned,” which stung more than I cared to admit. At that time, my understanding of proper nutrition and physical activity was still in its infancy, a mere whisper of what I know now. If only I could go back and impart wisdom on my younger self about the beautiful vessel my body is, perhaps I would have treated it with more kindness and respect.
In my 20s, our relationship deepened. With the impending milestone of my wedding day, my body and I became a united front striving towards a common goal. We worked diligently, transforming through sweat and determination into what society often calls “wedding shape.” Yet, looking back now with the benefit of hindsight, I see that I overlooked the beauty in those imperfections—like the stretch marks that have since become a testament to my journey. My body has undergone waves of change, yet it was during this decade that I began to appreciate the intricate balance of nurturing and discipline.
Fast forward to my 30s, where motherhood has reshaped not just my body but my entire perspective on life. With two children now under my wing, I find myself coming to terms with what is often called the “postpartum body.” It’s true, this body no longer fits the old mold. The reflection in the mirror reveals marks of time, including a noticeable scar that signifies the birth of my second son. It bears witness to years filled with joy and adversity, laughter and tears. Yet, amid these visible changes lies a deeper story—a narrative rich with gratitude.
It’s crucial to recognize what I’ve gained rather than what I’ve lost. Each scar holds a memory; each wrinkle signifies a moment lived fully. It’s during these quieter moments of self-reflection that I feel compelled to express my gratitude—to thank my body for its resilience, its ability to heal, and its unwavering strength. Yes, my body is transformed, but in those transformations, I find beauty that transcends societal ideals.
To my postpartum body: thank you. Thank you for the gift of nurturing life and creating a space for my children to thrive before they even entered this world. The physical sensations of pregnancy, from the flutters of little kicks to the more pronounced movements of my growing children, has cemented my connection with them long before they were in my arms. Together, we have navigated the challenges of delivery, and together, we have triumphed.
Additionally, my body has bestowed upon me a unique strength—the kind that transcends the physical. It’s a strength that resonates in my every action: the fierce hugs I give my toddler as he ventures off to school, the gentle cradling of my newborn during nighttime feedings, and the welcoming embrace I offer my husband when he returns from work. These moments are laced with love and are rendered possible by the very body I sometimes take for granted.
Reflecting on my physicality also reminds me of the more nuanced gifts I possess. To my lips, thank you for the soft kisses that heal small wounds, for the stories shared at bedtime, and for the unwavering support I offer my loved ones through spoken words. Thank you to my eyes, which not only witness beauty but also carry the stories of both joy and sorrow. They have shone brightly through the tender moments when I first laid eyes on my children and have learned to appreciate the subtleties of life.
Furthermore, I owe my body immense gratitude for the remarkable ability to nourish my children. As a breastfeeding mother, I find it awe-inspiring that my body can provide sustenance and comfort to my baby. Yes, I might feel like an all-day diner at times, yet the privilege of nurturing my child in this way fills me with pride.
In closing, it’s time to embrace my body with open arms, acknowledging its scars, wrinkles, and aches as symbols of resilience and survival. It may not resemble the sculpted ideal often perpetuated in media, but it is authentic; it is mine. I choose to celebrate it for what it has achieved and continues to offer. In this journey of motherhood and self-acceptance, I have come to see my body not as a hindrance, but as a true partner in crime—a rock star deserving of love and respect for all that it has done and continues to do.