This is a guest post from Emily Wierenga.
“Mommy?”
My three-year-old son stands before me on the rocky mountain path. We’re in Jasper and we’re hiking.
“Yes, sweetie?”
He looks solemn beneath his sideways ball cap. “You’re beautiful.”
Then he turns and skips away, leaving me breathless.
I know my husband told him to tell me that.
I know, because I’ve been struggling with postpartum body image.
Later my five-year-old son tells me the same thing.
“Mommy? You’re beautiful,” he says. I’m sitting and nursing my three-month-old daughter, wondering if my stomach will ever return to “normal.”
There’s something about a child’s voice. There’s something innocent and powerful, something that reaches past the varicose veins and the stretch marks and the bags. It ministers to a place so often neglected, the soul.
A child’s voice is louder than the world’s, the one telling me I need to lose weight, the one saying I should put on makeup or dye my hair or wear brand-name clothes. The one glancing enviously at other women instead of compassionately, the one that nearly killed me when I was an anorexic teenager.
A child’s voice is the voice of The Velveteen Rabbit. One of my favorite books, and now one of my kids’, it’s the story of a rabbit who’s all plush and new, who longs to be real. Who eventually gets to be real because of the love of a little boy. A boy who squeezes the rabbit tight each night and plays with him each day. As time passes the rabbit doesn’t notice his fur getting faded and ratty, his stuffing coming loose and his buttons falling off, because he finally feels loved. And this love declares him beautiful. This love declares him real.
I’m 34 and I’ve got three children and they’ve loved the plush right off me. I’m not shiny and new. My eyes are lined and weary from late-night nursings and rising to hug away the nightmares. On days when I do get to shower, I often don’t have time to comb my hair because the baby starts to cry or the boys are covered in mud and they’re tramping it across the floor. Makeup is reserved for Sundays on the way to church when I have a few minutes in the car to smear it on, and even when I put on nice clothes they soon have spit-up on them.
I’ve got stuffing that bunches in weird places: I’m flat where I used to be curvy and curvy where I used to be flat. But when I look in my children’s eyes, I see love. I see a love that hugs me tight each morning and begs me to sing song after song at night, a love that never tires of me in spite of me tiring of them. A love that eats burnt toast and quietly swallows when I yell over spilled milk. A love that wipes up spilled milk and says, “I’m sorry Mommy,” and then, “I forgive you, Mommy,” when I say I’m sorry.
And I’m learning three tips for how to love this post-partum self on those days when my body seems extra-frayed.
When someone compliments me, I’m tempted to argue or protest. My hubby will tell me I’m looking beautiful and suddenly I’ll wonder why he didn’t tell me the same thing yesterday—was I NOT looking beautiful yesterday? Instead, I’m learning to just say “Thank you;” to receive, instead of immediately repelling the affirmation.
One of my favorite authors is Anne Lamott, who makes a habit of saying “Thank You” to her own body—to her arms, for carrying groceries, to her legs for carrying her body, to her feet for guiding her home, even as she lovingly spreads lotion into her skin. I, too, am learning to say “Thank You” to my body which I so often abuse or take for granted.
I find when I am feeling low, or discouraged, if I begin to sing a hymn or a worship song my spirits immediately lift. There is something about praise, about exhibiting gratitude to our Maker. It puts everything else into perspective. It reminds us of the gift of life and all we have to be thankful for. Worship is what we were made for.
This is real friends.
All of it.
It is true and good and beautiful. Don’t let the mirror fool you. There are so many reasons to say “Thank You.”
And?
You’ve never looked more stunning.
Emily T. Wierenga is an award-winning journalist, columnist,
artist, author, founder of The Lulu Tree. Her work has appeared in many publications, including Relevant, Charisma, Desiring God, The Gospel Coalition, Christianity Today, Dayspring’s (in)courage and Focus on the Family. She is the author of six books including the travel memoir Atlas Girl and speaks regularly about her journey with anorexia. She lives in Alberta, Canada, with her husband, Trenton, and their children. Find her on Twitter or Facebook.
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I love number 3. Its true, worship is what we were made for. The best way to not worry about our weight or anything in life it to worship Jesus. He is who we are made for. And he made our bodies to have babies.
Wow. I try to teach my daughter that she is beautiful the way she is but I often forget to think about myself that way too. I always look down or in the mirror and don't like what I see. I used to like my body- before three children happened to it- and I needed to hear this more than anything! Thank you for such an honest and open post. <3
This is such a beautiful post and is so inspiring to Moms everywhere.
Thank you for shedding light on a big struggle for many selfless Mothers out there.
As a woman who will never be able to carry a child, it hurt to read this article. Yes, I have a "mom" body. I'm almost 40, and age is creeping up on me. But I can tell you that, if I had been able to have children, it would have made a huge difference in how I see my body now. I do not see the miracles that is can create (because it can't). Carrying and creating life is not a gift that has ever been bestowed upon me. I do realize that postpartum depression is real, and can really wreak havoc on your mind. I would just like you all to realize that some of us would have given anything to experience the gift that you've been given.
As a former anorexic myself (well, I SAY "former"....it's more accurately "non-practicing" - like a drug addict, I will ALWAYS be anorexic), I find I am TERRIFIED to give up my body-loathing. For some reason, hating how I look feels safer than letting that go and accepting and loving how I look....as if, hating my body gives me some control over it and myself. And that's what pushed me over the edge into anorexia when I was a girl - a need to have control over SOMETHING when my life was spiraling out of control.
What if I start loving my body, and my husband doesn't?? What if I feel confident with how I look, but I have NO reason to...???? That gives me butterflies in my stomach to think about. Relinquishing my body-hate means being a different person, and that path is too uncertain for me to be brave enough to navigate!! Besides, my body IS UGLY!!! I have no reason to try to accept it! :-P
I don't LOVE my body, but it wasn't perfect pre-children and it's not perfect now. I've struggled with my weight all my life. In 2005 I told my GYN that my husband and I were ready to have babies. Her reply was, "at your weight that's unlikely to happen". I ignored her and just went along with my life. A few months later I caught a coworker in the break room. She got married the week after me and we attended each other's weddings. She was rubbing her belly, thinking nobody could see. I approached her and she confirmed she was pregnant but just 10 weeks so she didn't want to tell everyone. I warned her about the belly running, exclaimed my joy. Later that night I cried thinking I may never have that. I did something drastic. I had a gastric bypass. A year later, I was 150 lbs...down from 301. I lost half of myself! I felt amazing and my sister was getting married. I felt like hot stuff at her wedding! Later that week we were shocked to find out I was pregnant! I have never felt more beautiful than I did carrying the perfectly round basketball belly (that everyone swore was a boy despite the obviously absent pieces in a sonogram!). I gained about 30 lbs, but lost 20 of it. Just in time for 9 mos later when I was pregnant again! I only gained 13lbs with the 2nd pregnancy but I felt awful. She just sat in a way that made me feel a lot of pressure. I'm now about 200lbs. However, I feel very comfortable in my skin. It's who I am. I don't cry when my girls jiggle my belly and tell me it's like jello! I laugh! 2 years ago my other sister got married. 6 years and 50 lbs later from the first sisters wedding, when I look at pictures I feel like I look more beautiful in the second. Like having my babies matured me in the most amazing way. I'm more confident and feel good about myself. Maybe it's because I want my girls know you don't have to look a certain way, be a certain weight or wear a ton of makeup to be beautiful. It just takes confidence and happiness to make anyone beautiful.
This is such a refreshing read. We so often beat ourselves up, comparing ourselves to the celebs who "dropped the baby weight within 2 weeks!" It's unrealistic and unkind to ourselves. I am struggling with body image as I enter the third trimester of my third pregnancy - I feel like my body will never be the same again. Thank you for posting this.
This piece brought me to tears. Thank you, Emily.