Dear Body,
I knew this moment would come. I can still picture my daughter, dressed in her sparkly princess outfit, twirling in front of the mirror, serenading herself with “So This is Love.” Her high-pitched voice reminded me of a cartoon character, and there she was, lost in her own beauty. In that moment, I wished for her to always recognize just how astonishingly beautiful she is. But a sinking feeling gripped me as I realized that, like so many girls, she would likely face a time when self-love would feel out of reach.
Then, I stumbled upon Brene Brown’s Wholehearted Parenting Manifesto. It’s a heartfelt guide for parents striving to raise their children right. The true magic lies not merely in what we tell our kids but in how we embody those lessons ourselves. Brown poignantly writes, “I want you to engage with the world from a place of worthiness.” Our children will internalize their worth not from our words but from witnessing our own self-compassion and acceptance.
Luci will learn to cherish herself by watching me embrace my own body, not just by hearing me say she’s beautiful.
So, Body, I have some truths to share with you. For as long as I can remember, I’ve held shame towards you. You have embarrassed me, made me feel inferior, and pushed me toward invisibility. Yet, I want to take a moment to view things through your eyes.
I think our struggles began around the age of eight. Those years were filled with turmoil. You started to hold onto weight, and I was furious with you. As if I needed another concern on my plate—like “overweight” was a badge of horror I had to carry. But in hindsight, I see you were just trying to shield me. You wrapped me in layers, creating a cocoon, a refuge from the harshness outside.
I’m learning to shed that protective armor now. It’s time to feel exposed and vulnerable. We’re safe, and we don’t need that barrier anymore.
Thank you, Body, for your attempts to protect me. Thank you for being my sanctuary.
This is our moment of reckoning. I’m committed to loving you wholeheartedly.
Do you remember those stretch marks that appeared right before my son was born? They lengthened nearly four inches in those final days, and I wept over what I considered imperfections. Until then, I’d never seen a woman on a magazine cover with marks like mine. Once again, I felt like my body didn’t fit the ideal.
But, Body, thank you for nurturing not just one, but two beautiful lives. You grew and morphed so that I could bring my children into this world. Your innate wisdom gave me new purpose and direction.
I used to resent you for not excelling in sports or being the fastest runner. We struggled to hit a softball, sink a basket, or even jog a mile!
But, thank you for carrying me through those awkward teenage years. I’m grateful we’re discovering together what movement feels good and invigorating.
I love you, Body. I adore your unique curves and your big, curly hair. I appreciate the breasts that have transformed to nourish my kids and the belly that cradled them. I cherish the squishy arms that offer comfort and the legs that provide a safe haven for my little ones. I adore how you connect me to my partner, who has always seen the beauty within us.
So, here it is, Body: our moment of reckoning. I love you for Luci, but I also love you for me. Thank you for all that you are.
We are mothers, daughters, sisters, and friends—individuals united by the journey of motherhood. In addition to parenting, we need spaces to share our thoughts on life beyond the kids. For more engaging content, visit our blog post on at-home insemination kits here for helpful insights. If your kids are older, our BabyMaker kit is an excellent resource for those considering their own journey with home insemination. For even more information, check out this insightful podcast on IVF and fertility preservation.
In summary, let’s embrace our bodies with love and gratitude as we navigate the beautiful chaos of motherhood.
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