SHE’S EVOLVED

The other day, a pair of jeans I’d ordered online arrived in the mail. As I yanked them up my body, zipped them, and turned to look in the mirror… the only word that came to mind was “blah”. I hated them. I hated the way they looked and I hated the way I felt in them. I relapsed into my black leggings and finished off the look with a sweater two sizes too big.

It’s no secret that learning to love your body after baby can be a challenge. What I don’t think gets discussed enough, is the way that mindset ebbs and flows in and out of a state of self-confidence, and downright betrayal for what this body of yours has accomplished. Everyone goes through it differently, making everyone’s experience of it uniquely personal, which in turn can make the process a lonely one.

For me, I’ve never felt better than when I was pregnant. Every ounce of body-shame I’d ever carried with me, was completely erased by the fact that I was carrying a baby. My stomach feels big? Duh, I’m pregnant. My feet are swollen? Obviously, I’m pregnant. My inner thighs are rubbing together even though I’m waddling? Who cares, I’m fucking pregnant. I loved it, it was like all my insecurities had a get-out-of-jail-free card. Then I gave birth, and can honestly say I spent a majority of my recovery on a pure adrenaline high over what my body had just done. It was incredible, and no unrealistic body standard could make it feel otherwise. I hung onto that feeling for a couple months; the mindset of “I just had a baby” is a hell of a drug.

But time is a thief. All of a sudden you didn’t just have a baby, and those reasons you had to love your body start to fade a lot faster than your stretch marks. Maybe it’s “bounce back” culture or the ever-growing weight of society’s pressure to fit back into a mould, but as I hit the one year mark I started to feel it all again. Insecure in tight jeans, timid of showing my stretch marks, self-conscious of the soft skin on my soft stomach. I’ve put in a lot of time and work into reprogramming my mind to have the awareness of why I occasionally think so wrongfully about my physical self. I’m not perfect and the subliminal messaging about the worth of our bodies being tied to it’s appearance, is relentless.

You do not have to be a mother, to be in a season of life that is not centre around your body. Read that again. Maybe you’re a kid and all that noise is toxic. Maybe you’re a student or successful professional, grinding away your hours in a library instead of a gym. Maybe you crave socializing with your people over an indulgent meal and ordering dessert because that fills your cup more than an hour of cardio. Maybe you’re a single parent, with barely any time to breathe let alone spend on things of your own choosing. Maybe your kids are grown, and it’s the season for you to rest a little. Or maybe, you just never really gave a damn… and I love that for you.

I remember getting out of the shower one day, to my daughter standing in front of me. I looked at her and fought every urge in my body to show a single bit of shame, I just stood there. Exposed. She stared at me as if something about it was familiar. Then, without saying anything at all, she hugged me. She didn’t care about the scars on my tummy or the bumps on my thighs. She didn’t see the grey hairs in my roots or the dark circles under my eyes. That hug melted away every fear I’ve ever had about my daughter’s understanding of beauty. She just saw my body for what it was… her first home. That was all that mattered to her, that was my worth. And I’ve never felt more beautiful.

So let’s have a little reset, shall we? And give ourselves a minute to be reminded of our worth. An ode to a postpartum body; to all that exist and especially to the one that I’m existing in.

This is the glow-up society doesn’t want you believing in. She’s stretched, marked, bled, and scarred. We are made to feel like any and all of the changes, somehow take away from our value. But that body is the key to the existence of humanity. She’s evolved. Those lines tell a story of the way she grew to grow you, the way she stretched to carry you, and the way she evolved so that you could exist. People talk a lot about their ideas of the afterlife; their belief systems and the things they cling onto for direction of their moral compass. Nobody really talks about life before this life; how we existed or how our souls came to be. That body that society is trying so hard to keep in its capitalist chokehold, is the door. It’s a magic that can’t be explained, and should never be defined as unworthy.

Don’t shutter. Feel zero shame. Remind yourself, every single day if you have to, that the marks of life on your body exist only to amplify your worth. Anything else is just noise.