Reader’s Favorite

You’re Beautiful to Me (Angela)

Bonnie (SOAM) 5+ Years Postpartum, Belly, Mom over 30, Positive Body Image/Words of Enouragement, Postpartum, Reader's Favorite, Second Pregnancy, Submissions 18 Comments

~Age: 44
~Number of pregnancies and births: 2
~The age of your children, or how far postpartum you are: 14 & 11 years old

I find it ironic that I appreciate my body now more than I did when it was a relatively tight little thing in high school. I used to curse what I called a “pot belly” and would wear oversized sweatshirts to hide it. Over two decades later my tight little pot belly is softened, scarred and sagging in places, yet I can now look in the mirror and rejoice in the beauty of my body. I no longer try to hide it, but wear clothes that reveal my curves and in which I feel feminine and sexy. I also now know that my body is not just for looks and I appreciate and feel grateful for all its blessings. First of all, it gets me through my life just fine: I walk, skip and dance. I give and receive hugs. I make love. I’ve made and nourished babies. I am strong, flexible and healthy!

When I see teenaged girls and young twenty-somethings with bodies similar to the one I had, I just laugh to myself and think “I used to have that cute little body and I didn’t even appreciate it!” When I see teenaged girls and young twenty-somethings with bodies larger than the one I had wearing cute outfits and strutting their stuff confidently, I am filled with a longing to have had that kind of confidence when I was their age.

I didn’t treat myself very well as a young woman and I now ask her for forgiveness: “Forgive me, dear girl, for not appreciating you. Forgive me for discounting your beauty and your worth. Forgive me for trying to hide you and all your love and light from the world.”

But how did I get from self-loather to self-lover? It’s something I’ve been actively working on since my late twenties when someone suggested I look into my own eyes in a mirror and tell myself “I love you.” Have you ever tried that? I couldn’t even maintain eye contact with myself! But I did it anyway, even though I felt like a liar as I uttered the words.

After I had children, I was struck by the way they and my husband loved to touch my belly; they told me it felt good! So I tried it. I closed my eyes and pretended I had no judgements about my belly. I touched, caressed and kneaded. I felt the texture of the skin, the softness of the fat and the firmness of the muscle. I felt the smooth parts and the bumpy parts; the taught parts and the parts that fold over. I was surprised that I was actually enjoying this very sensual experience! From that moment on I vowed not only to look at myself in the mirror lovingly and appreciatively, but to touch myself lovingly and appreciatively as well, and I can honestly say that I now mean it when I tell myself “I love you!”

In case you’re wondering, YES I still treat myself unkindly at times! If my clothes don’t look or feel right for whatever reason, I can easily spiral into a desperate place. If I’m going somewhere where I think there might be people who may judge me harshly, I feel anxiously insecure. Luckily, I’m very creative with clothes and I’ll try on item after item until I come up with a combination in which I feel at least presentable. And I feel grateful to my husband for being so patient while I fling clothes all over the room as I make us late for a party.

I’ve learned to be very kind and patient and compassionate with the self-loather in me. After all, she’s just a girl who got hurt by some pretty insensitive and sometimes cruel remarks when she was at the tender and confusing age of adolescence. She’s still trying to protect me by hiding me. It’s up to me, the woman I’ve become, to hold her lovingly and calm her fears: “It’s OK sweety – you’re beautiful to me!”

121410-angela-1

Your First Home (Proudmama)

Bonnie (SOAM) Belly, Breasts, First Pregnancy, Mom over 30, Postpartum, Reader's Favorite, Submissions, Update 23 Comments

Previous entry here.

I didn’t intend on updating so soon, but something happened that I wanted to share.

First of all I come here regularly because I feel like I’m a part of something when I read your stories. Some of your stories I relate to more than others, some stories make me want to cry because I either want to reach through the computer and hug you or because I can’t believe how beautiful you are, and if you don’t like your body, what would you think of mine…

It’s been a tough couple of months on a lot of different levels and I feel that although I’m still losing weight and inches, it only makes my skin sag and “hang” more. But I do feel healthier so that’s gotta count for something.

But here’s what I wanted to share with you, to reminds all of us of what really matters.

The other day I was sitting on the floor and playing with my daughter (who will already turn 1 year old very soon and is starting to walk) and I found myself wanting to cry at the sight of the roll of belly fat hanging in front of me. I was pinching the skin and moving it around distractingly. My daughter walked over and kneeled down next to me and put her little hand on my belly and she pat it lovingly. I looked up into those big blue eyes and that big gap toothed grin of hers and I did find myself crying, but not of sadness. I couldn’t believe that almost a year ago, this little girl was resting inside of me, kicking her little heels eager to come out. And now there she was, walking and smiling and caressing my belly from the outside.

That night I opened the baby book that I’d been too busy to pay attention to and found the section titled Your First Home. There I pasted three pictures, one of before I got pregnant, one of my big pregnant belly and the third one of my belly in its current state, and underneath I started writing:

“The first picture is of Your First Home before you moved in. It’s like a brand new house with new furniture that still has the paint and new carpet smell. Sure it looks good but you’re afraid to touch anything for fear of breaking something and it doesn’t feel like you home.

The second picture represents all those years you spent in that house, molding it to your liking making changes, building memories. Sometimes it gets cluttered and messy and crowded and it might have lost that brand new house appeal but it smells homely and it’s comforting.

That last picture is like a beloved house after you’ve decided to move out because it doesn’t suit your needs anymore. You say goodbye to it with a heavy heart but you know that you need to move on. Who knows, it might just suit somebody else one day. Before you leave though, you take a good look at it. A brand new house it isn’t anymore. The paint is chipping, the carpets are dirty. To a casual by-stander it might not look that great, but you know better. That house is beautiful to you because it has been lived in. Laughter has echoed in its wall, maybe some tears have been shed too, but mostly it’s Love that you can feel in its foundation.

My dear daughter, when I look at this belly that was you very first home, I smile. Every line, every wrinkle, every mark is there because you decided to choose me to be your mommy. Maybe one day I will give you a brother or a sister and they too will leave their own personal story on my belly. And I hope that one day, if you so desire, you will be blessed with a baby of your own and that you too will have the privilege of becoming someone’s First Home.”

Your bellies might be scared, deformed and wrinkled but they were your precious children’s first home and that’s something to be thankful for. It doesn’t make everything better I know, but it puts things in perspective.

Thank you for allowing me to share.

Peace to you and yours

~Proudmama

Pictures are 11.5 months postpartum.

Updated here and here.

Katherina

Bonnie (SOAM) Belly, Postpartum, Reader's Favorite, Submissions, Third Pregnancy, Vulva 40 Comments

My name is Katherina and I am a mother of three beautiful children, ages 7, 4 and 3. All my births were natural and I breast-fed all three of my babies. Like most women, I intended to gain the recommended 25- 30 pounds with each pregnancy, but I ended up gaining 50+ pounds each time. I ate nutritious food – fruits, veggies, etc. – I just ate a lot because I was hungry ALL THE TIME, even in the middle of the night.

I received a lot of veiled hurtful remarks about my weight gain, like: “you were so thin before, I just assumed you would be a thin pregnant person”, “wow, your baby is going to be gigantic” and “you don’t really need to eat for two”. Some people made comments that were outright hurtful, including my husband. It left me wondering, when did my weight become everyone else’s business?

The photos below show what my body looks like now that my youngest (and last) child is almost three. I gradually lost the extra sixty pounds I had gained and I’ve taken up yoga. As for my last pic, I took it to disprove the myth that a natural delivery ruins your vagina. I know that c-sections are a blessing to those who truly need them, but so many women who don’t need one are ‘electing’ to have one anyhow. Hopefully my photo will take away some of the fear associated with natural birth.

Motherhood has brought so much joy into my life and I hope that all the pregnant women and mothers who read this will realize how beautiful and special they are. Insist on celebrating yourself in all of your phases – you’re worth it! : )

080510-katherina-1

080510-katherina-2

Third picture can be viewed here. It’s more personal than most photos on this site, so I am not posting it within the entry itself. :)

A letter to my body 1 yr PP (Emily)

Bonnie (SOAM) Belly, Breasts, Cesarean, First Pregnancy, Positive Body Image/Words of Enouragement, Postpartum, Pregnant, Reader's Favorite, Second Pregnancy, Submissions, Uncategorized, Update 18 Comments

Age: 23
1 pregnancy, son is 12 months old, 1 yr PP

Dear body,
Thank you for all that you have given me and others. I am sorry for what I used to think of you, I was wrong you are beautiful. I promise to never be ashamed of my body anymore. I promise to love this body and treat it with respect for the rest of my life. I promise to be PROUD of my belly, my breasts, my scars. I created and brought a life into this world and so far have nourished that life with only my body. I am too insignificant to realize the gift god gave me by making me a woman. I am a creator of life and beauty, I do not have to look like a bikini model to be happy. I am a mother, like the earth with hills and valleys. I love you body!!!!

I Remember… (Mary)

Bonnie (SOAM) Belly, First Pregnancy, Postpartum, Reader's Favorite, Submissions 32 Comments

~Age: 27
~Number of pregnancies and births: 1 pregnancy, 1 birth by c-section
~The age of your children, or how far postpartum you are: 5 months

I remember being 4 and 5 years old and looking down at myself in the bathtub and thinking I was fat.
I remember being in 2nd grade and looking down at myself (in my too tight school uniform because we were too poor to get a new one) and feeling fat.
I remember being 10 and being the first one in my class to get boobs (and feeling fat.)
I remember being 13 and getting my 1st period (and new braces, and pimples, and a REALLY bad haircut) and feeling fat. I remember being in love with the cutest boy in class and finding out that he was in love with the skinniest and prettiest girl in class (and feeling fat.)
I remember being 14 and starting High School and not knowing anyone and hearing all the other girls talk about sex and cheerleading and how fat they all were (even though they really weren’t) and I thought, “wow if they think that they are fat then i must be REALLY fat”.
I remember being 15 and going to another High School and making only one friend who of course had curly red hair and sparkling smile and a great outgoing personality and all the boys loved her and didn’t even look at me me (and feeling fat.)
I remember the summer before i turned 16 when I was in love with another boy who toyed with me, and cheated on his girlfriend with me which i thought was his proof that he really wanted to be with me (and i let him kiss me and touch me because for the first time in my life my pants were falling off of me and i felt kinda pretty (even though i still kinda felt fat).
I remember being 16 and starting yet another new school and finding out from my doctor that the reason i was so skinny was because i was sick and they had to fix it and fixing it meant i would gain all that weight back which meant that i would be fat again (even though i never really felt skinny.)
I remember being at junior prom and looking up at my best friend and realizing i was in love with him and when he looked back i got nervous and paranoid and had to run to the bathroom to make sure that I still looked ok.
I remember being 17 and watching him date a tiny wisp of a girl instead of me.
I remember taking thyroid pills which made me go from 124 to 140 in less than 2 months and there was nothing i could do about it.
I remember starting college and not having time to eat right and just grabbing fast food whenever i could and gaining 15 lbs and being bigger than any of my friends.
I remember being proud of who i was and refused to diet bc I’d rather be fat and happy then thin and deprived (but i still felt fat.)
I remember starting a ballet class and looking around and seeing all the willowy waify girls with their slender backs and upper arms and long limbs and i was so short and squat with thick muscular legs and i thought “i’ll never be like that, why should i even bother to try” and i ate for comfort and gained even more weight and felt even more fat.
I remember summer came and i lost all the weight because there were too many other fun things to do besides eat and I went down to 143 and i thought i looked damn good and my pants started to fall off me again and my mother said i looked good but “5 more lbs and you’ll be perfect.”
I remember meeting a boy. A perfect boy (even though he plays too many video games and watches too many cartoons.) I remember falling in love with a new person for the first time since that not-so-fateful prom night back in junior year.
I remember having sex for the first time and being on top and praying that i wasn’t crushing him.
I remember him telling me he loved me and looking at me like i was the most beautiful person in the world.
I remember being terrified of getting pregnant and having to go on birth control.
I remember not realizing i was gaining weight until one day i couldn’t put my jeans on and i got on the scale and it said 161. I remember my mother telling me that i was starting to look like “a fat girl”.
I remember having to drive my boyfriend to live with his parents 60 miles away and not knowing if he was going to come back home eventually or if i had to go there just to be with him and i remember the long drive back without him and me crying all the way home and stopping at a McDonald’s in a service station and eating 2 double cheeseburgers and fries and super-sizing it then feeling too full and too fat.
I remember coming home to my grandma’s and she told me that she would help me do weight watchers and that ill probably loose all the weight really quickly.
I remember losing only 6 lbs.
I remember giving up because my doctor told me it would be really hard for me to lose the weight due to that f***ing birth control!
I remember the day my boyfriend proposed to me and my mom took pictures and when i saw them all i could think of was how fat my legs looked in my sundress.
I remember being ashamed because my fiance had a six pack and i didn’t.
I remember hating the fact that he was 35 lbs lighter than me.
I remember hating the fact that i wasn’t comfortable with him picking me up (even though he is strong and could do it easily.)
I remember moving in with my fiance and i was on my feet all day and
i remember how my feet hurt and when i told my mom, she said it was because i was too heavy.
I remember standing in my bathroom, straightening my hair and my calves started tingling and i told my doctor and she told me it was because i was too heavy.
I remember being at a funeral and my cousin told me “you have such a pretty face. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little overweight.”
I remember trying on a wedding dress and having it zip up on the first try and i didn’t have to struggle at all and i felt so happy.
I remember finding out that it was a size 14 and i felt so fat.
I remember looking in the mirror and thinking i looked really good because it covered so much of me up.
I remember my grandmother telling me i looked good (except for my back and arms.)
I remember wishing i had a prominent collarbone like the skinny bride-to-be in the next dressing room.
I remember my mother telling me that she would get that weight off of me “if she had to beat it off.”
I remember getting on my scale 2 weeks later and being shocked that it said 169.
(I remember thinking I was fat at 124.)
I remember looking at old pictures of myself and saying “wow, i wasn’t really fat at all.”
I remember getting married and wearing a corset underneath that squeezed me so tight i felt like i would faint.
I remember gaining and losing the same 15 lbs over and over again, never going below 160.
I remember getting pregnant.
I remember gaining 30 lbs in 30 weeks (which is pretty darn good) but then developing pre-eclampsia in the last week and gaining 15 lbs of so much water that i could press on my legs and the mark would stay.
I remember being 215 lbs on the night of my c-section. I remember not even being able to move (but barely since i was so high on magnesium.) I remember losing 30 lbs within 3 weeks and being so proud of myself, but then it stopped and i haven’t lost a thing since, even with the breastfeeding.
Now my son is 5 months old and I’m 20 lbs heavier than before i got pregnant. I look in my closet and see all the clothes i cant fit into anymore. I put on the only jeans i own that I can button and see my stretchmarked stomach hanging over the top of them. I cry as i pull on a pair of maternity pants. I hate dieting but i hate eating, looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time. I cry to my husband that i feel fat. Where before he would tell me that I’m perfect and beautiful and he loves me so much and he doesn’t want to see me unhappy, now he tells me, “well, work out.”
i should celebrate my body. I carried a human being! I had a difficult delivery and we came out healthy and happy and whole. I should be proud of what i have done and it shouldn’t matter what I look like. and i will do it all over again (and maybe even again after that.)
I’ve never been able to get into a bikini and it seems like I’ll still never be able to.
so I should get used to it.
and celebrate my body!
with a piece of cake…
haha ok maybe not…

I wear my baby stripes with honor (Karyle)

Bonnie (SOAM) No Photos (Story Only), Positive Body Image/Words of Enouragement, Reader's Favorite, Submissions 5 Comments

Age: 22 Years old
Pregnancies: 2 happy little girls
Childrens ages:
18 month old and 3 months old

To me, these scars to not make me ugly or disfigured. To me, they are reminders of what we as women go through to bring our children into the world. Any man who thinks stretch marks are horrible should try having an enpowering enperience like incubating, carrying, and birthing another human being. There is nothing like that experience in the world. These baby stripes that cover me from waist to ankles and my membership card into the world’s greatest club. The one’s my second daughter gave me that sneak up past my hip bones are my gold star; they say I am a dedicated mother, a special woman for embarking on that awesome journey twice.

Whenever I see them, and if they try to make me feel bad, I remind myself of the love I get from my daughters and how worthwhile it was. I’ve had people tell me I shouldn’t wear short anymore, that I should stick to pants. I tell them that if they don’t want to see my stretch marks they can look away or keep in mind that 98% of women have these honor stripes.

My badges of honor make me feel sad for those women who are airbrushed and painted and cut so they are “pretty”. To me what is pretty is the strength that a woman shows when she holds her newborn for the first time, or when she conforts a crying toddler, sends a child to school on the bus for the first time, or watches her children get married. I wear my baby stripes with honor.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall….who’s the most damaged mother of them all? (Mary)

Bonnie (SOAM) Positive Body Image/Words of Enouragement, Postpartum, Prose, Reader's Favorite, Submissions, Third Pregnancy, Update 55 Comments

“Look at those ugly stretch marks!” the mirror sneers as I hurriedly change my clothes. No matter how hard I try, my eyes always seem to wander to my disappointing reflection staring back at me, “You’re disfigured and they’ll never go away you know. Never.”

Tears pool in my eyes as I try to shut out the hurtful thoughts, I glance in the glass though and agree, I am hideous. My body is marred all over from three pregnancies, scars that seem to burn and scream “You’ll never be attractive again.” I pull on my pants and long shirt and breathe a sigh of relief, clothes have become my mask and my shield, for with them on I feel normal and I can pretend my body is perfect, I’m still however, conscious of my flaws. My shirt could ride up and someone might become grossed out by my bread dough belly or I might bend over too far and accidentally show my uneven breasts. Oh the horror! Being nude is a nightmare for me, I dread showers, and lovemaking is done under the covers whilst wearing a top that covers my torso despite my husband’s vows that I’ve never looked better.

I go through stages of self-hate and berate myself for not trying harder to prevent the damage I had done. I forget the sweet moments at night when my husband would lovely run lotion on my belly, amused by the little feet trying to kick his hands. Instead I moan about regretting not smearing lotion on my body every second of the day. I dismiss from my mind how hard I worked to eat healthy, charting and researching to make sure I was giving my body and baby every nutrient they needed. Instead I think that I would have ended up happier if I had starved myself to keep the weight off. I obliterate the sweet memories of the long walks we would take together every night, laughing as I tried to climb hills while holding my massive belly. Instead I wish that I had taken out a loan so I could have spent every day at the gym with a personal trainer. I sink down in the belief that I am the only mother that has let herself go. I even convince myself that I have proof. I see all the newspapers and billboards with perfect mothers and wonder why I don’t compare to their fit bodies. Even my favorite parenting magazines are filled with ads showcasing taut bellies and breasts. And as far as I know, all the mothers in my life have no stretch marks or flaws either for they never mention otherwise, surely if they were feeling as low as I am they would have said so. The mirror doesn’t lie; I’m the only mother alive whose body has been destroyed. I’m alone. I’m the only mother with these thoughts and I’m ashamed.

I decide surgery is my only option. I can only feel whole again if I cut out the glaring marks that giving life has given me. I look in the mirror and think that only a tummy tuck or a breast lift would improve my appearance. I have never had much time to spend online before but I make time to start searching the internet for options, knowing I could never afford the fees but determined to research anyways. Surprisingly I do find the hope I was seeking online but not from medical sites, instead I find communities of women who look and feel exactly as I do.

I find theshapeofamother.com, a site that brings me to my knees in sobs, a site where I find answers, acceptance, and understanding. It’s where mothers from all over the world go to post photos and accounts of their bodies to show all other mothers that they are normal. I read pages and pages of stories, crying and smiling harder with each one. Their words are my thoughts, my fears…I’m connected to them all. I am no longer alone. I find forums where groups of mothers gather to discuss everything from cooking to gifts to yes, their new bodies as opening up to strangers is so much easier than pouring out your feelings face to face. I even find sites that show before and after photos of air brushed models and for the first time realize that *I* am the normal woman, that those in the ads are the unnatural, enhanced, and unrealistic versions of womanhood.

I start to see my own body in a new light, to remember what’s it like to look in the mirror and smile, and to feel confident once again. It didn’t happen overnight but slowly over the months I start to change. I stop wearing clothes that are too big on me as I no longer feel the need to hide beneath them. I take my children swimming for the first time in a public pool, no longer ashamed of what my swim clothes reveal. I celebrate my amazing body that has given me so much and marvel how I could have disliked it for so long. I apologize to myself and promise to never let go of my self- worth again.

And one night, after the kids are safely tucked in bed, I decide it’s time to show my husband my new confidence. I ask him if he’d like to do a tasteful photo session of my body. He’s surprised but happy, and we start our boudoir experiment. I stand under the bright lights, 100% unclothed, with nothing to hide beneath, and bare my soul and body to the man who’s been by my side for so many years. At first I was timid and shy but with each snap I hear his words of encouragement and I can see in his eyes that he loves what he sees, flaws and all. I feel my self esteem blossom and grin and I wish that this feeling could be shared by every mother. When I see the photos I’m shocked by what lovely pieces of art they are. “I’m….I’m stunning.” I whisper.

I turned towards the mirror and see a positive glow surrounding my body, it’s my self-respect. I touch my stretch marks and say “I’m glad they are here, for my babies are growing, and soon will leave my nest, but their marks will always be a lovely reminder.

Right here, see this little one? That’s where I first felt my first kick me; I sat up all excited and yelled ‘She moved inside me, I felt it!’ I sat there for hours stroking that spot, in awe that a life was growing inside of me, waiting for her to move again. Why would I want that marvelous mark she left me to fade away?

And here, see this short, deep one? That’s where my second’s foot stayed for 3 months, I was always worried about him because he didn’t kick much but I could always feel his toes twitching right there, telling me he was holding on. Even now, when my special boy is having a hard day, I unconsciously touch that spot and say ‘You’ll get through this buddy, just hang in a little bit longer.’ And he does.

And feel this long one here, that starts at my hip and crawls all the way up over my belly button, higher than all the rest? I watched this one creep up a tiny bit higher each day with my third. I would laugh and say ‘Silly boy you don’t want to get lost in the mist of your older siblings do you? You want to make sure your marks can clearly be seen, good for you, you’ll go far in life and I’ll root for you the whole way.’

“I’m sorry.” I tell my body “I was wrong. They are beautiful aren’t they? Each one tells its own amazing story.” I look in the mirror and smile and love what I see. And behind me I see all the other mothers of the world, touching their marks, and smiling along with me.

-Photo attached, taken by my husband.

030910-anon-1

Updated here.

Natural Beauty (Anonymous)

Bonnie (SOAM) Belly, Postpartum, Reader's Favorite, Submissions 33 Comments

Feeling down about my not so picture perfect body I decided to take some pictures of myself. Not from flattering angles, not sucking in, not standing up. This is me, with my belly hanging out, my stretch marks, my soft bottom and legs, and less than perky breasts from feeding my child (and still am). I am not skinny, I am not smooth, I am no longer toned, I have bulges and wrinkles, but I am a mom and I am beautiful!

My Mother Body (Lisa)

Bonnie (SOAM) Belly, Four or More Pregnancies, Mom over 30, Postpartum, Reader's Favorite, Submissions, Twins 11 Comments

During a recent discussion among a group of women friends in which a few of us were taking pot-shots at ourselves about our post-baby bodies, one friend in the group passed along a link to this website. I spent some time reading submissions posted to the site and looking at photographs, and it all just brought me to tears. First, because I think the women shown are beautiful – in body and spirit. And secondly, because it makes me feel sad that I have such a poor self-image.

I am 42 years old. I have given birth to and nursed six children. I am, in fact, still nursing my sixth child, who is almost 18 months old. In addition to the baby, I have a 3-year old, 5-year old twins, a 7-year old, and a 13-year old.

At 5 feet, 5 inches tall and 128 pounds, I am not overweight. I am actually within the healthy weight for my height and build. And yet, it’s the heaviest non-pregnant I’ve ever been in my life. I sometimes look at photos of myself from 10 and 15 years ago and pine for what I used to look like: thin, lean and angular, flat of stomach. It’s so true, that old saying, that youth is wasted on the young. I surely didn’t appreciate the body I had then. I didn’t even recognize that it was anything anyone might be envious of. It certainly never occurred to me that one day, several years into the future, I would look back at my younger, leaner self, and wish I still looked that way.

The truth is, though, that I spent a good part of my younger life being underweight. It wasn’t anything I aspired to or put work into – it’s just the way my body wanted to be. I’m probably at a healthier weight now than I was when I was 25.

But now, time and five pregnancies have changed this body forever. There are bulges and rolls where there used to be flat valleys. Certain areas are beginning to head a little southward. I have a pot belly covered with baggy skin from having been stretched out so far, so many times. My abdominal muscles are like pudding and just can’t hold it all in anymore.

When I glimpse myself in the mirror, unclothed, I quickly look away. I hide in the bathroom to get dressed or undressed; even my husband doesn’t get to see me in the light of day anymore. I feel embarrassed about my body, and mildly contemptuous of it. Sometimes I wear a Spanx under my clothes to smooth the bulges. Sometimes I fantasize about having plastic surgery – a little liposuction here, a little tuck there, a little lift here.

Why do I do this to myself? If it were a friend saying all these exact things to me, I would say to her, “You’re beautiful. Look at all the amazing things your body has done. I am in awe of you.” But I know that I am not alone in these feelings. So many of my friends also have poor feelings about their mother-bodies. We lament and make jokes about the stretch marks and saggy boobs and flabby bellies. Why can’t we embrace who and what we’ve become? Why don’t we see the beauty in ourselves, in those very marks of motherhood, in what our bodies have accomplished? Why do we feel embarrassed and ashamed?

I have long been of the opinion that pregnant women are truly beautiful. Personally, I have never felt more beautiful, more complete, than when I have been pregnant. The rounder and fuller I grew, the more fulfilled and happy in my own skin I felt. I loved wearing form-fitting clothes when I was pregnant. I was not afraid to bare my belly, and even sat for a revealing photo shoot when I was about six months pregnant with my twins. I treasure those photos, and I love the way I look in them, round and ripe.

I still remember after my first baby was born, taking a shower for the first time after giving birth, and being a little horrified at the shriveled, wrinkled little mound my belly had suddenly become. And I think ever since then I’ve been struggling with my body self-image – trying to make peace with what my body has become, and mostly failing. How can I love the body that is accomplishing something magical, and hate the body that is left in the wake of the magic?

My husband has told me that to him, a woman isn’t really a woman until she becomes a mother. And even as I cringe and shy away when he puts his hand on my belly, he tells me that I’m beautiful. Why can’t I see myself through his eyes?

Where does this notion come from, that youth and physical perfection are goals worthy of self-torment? Why do we mothers believe that firmer and harder is better, more beautiful? Can you imagine if we instilled in our children that physical perfection, that holding onto youth, rather than being healthy and happy, are what they should strive for? Wow, that’s something to think about, isn’t it? Kind of makes you wonder at what point in our lives our priorities change so drastically. I know that it would break my heart to see my daughters develop this sense of self-loathing someday. I want them to believe in their beauty at every age and stage of womanhood.

I am 42 years old and my body isn’t what it used to be. But it’s done some amazing things, and I would like to learn to take pride in that – in the physical evidence of what this body has accomplished. That is going to be my new year’s resolution: to learn to love myself.

Ode To My Scar (Colleen)

Bonnie (SOAM) Belly, Cesarean, Cesarean Scar and/or Incision, First Pregnancy, Postpartum, Reader's Favorite, Submissions, Update 29 Comments

I posted when I was 3 weeks postpartum about my feelings following a cesarean, and I wasn’t planning on posting again until I’d made some progress on my body, but I have had some thoughts that I would like to share (especially considering I’ve read several dissatisfied Cesarean mommy posts lately).

As much as I hated the necessity of a cesarean, I am somewhat fond of my scar. It’s very smooth (though still red), and aside from some numbness, doesn’t bother me at all—no stiffness or pulling. Sometimes I like to run my fingers over the smoother skin along the scar and remember the day I got it, the day I got to meet my sweet baby girl.

Anyhow, this is what I thought about: C-section scars are very unique. They are the only type of scar that is instantly recognizable (no other surgery causes an incision in the same place, same size, every person, every time). They are the only scar whose creation saved two lives instead of one. And they are a physical sign of a mother’s willingness to do anything for her children—even go under the knife.

A cesarean scar is a reminder that all of the planning in the world can’t make things go the way you want it to. It is a reminder that children will do what they want, when they want it, and how they want it. For those who avoided stretch marks, it can be a physical reminder of how your body sheltered and grew a baby all those months. And it is a souvenir of one of the happiest days of a mother’s life.

It occurred to me that a cesarean scar is kind of like a badge of membership in an exclusive club. Sure, we might not all have stories about where we felt that first contraction, or how long labor lasted, or how long we pushed (though some do), but we have birth stories of a different type. We did what we had to to make sure our children got here safely, and that’s what really matters. So, yes, I like my scar quite a bit, and I’m glad I’ll always have it to remind me of all of these things.

(As a follow-up to my last post, I’m doing much better with my feelings about the cesarean. I am very positive I can have a VBAC next time—unless #2 is also breech!—and that confidence has helped to dispel any lingering feelings of loss. The only time I’ve felt bad about it in the last month or two was when a friend had a 10 lb. baby vaginally, and I thought “why is that she can do that, and I couldn’t even deliver my 6 ½ pounder?” But I got over it quickly because I know my time will come. Now my only problem is waiting 3 years to find out if I can actually do it!)

My age: 25
One pregnancy, one birth
4 months +1 week postpartum (19 weeks)

Pictures (sorry they’re awkward close-ups, but I figured if I was going to write all about my scar, I needed to include pictures of it!):
My incision 1 day post-partum (for comparison–sorry it’s kind of blurry)
My scar today (19 weeks post-partum)
My little girl, because I love sharing pictures of her!

Updated here and here.