Guys, I had an entire blog post written up for you that was uplifting and positive but the truth is, as much as I love and adore the little baby girl I created, I can't stop loathing my body. I can't lose enough weight. I can't wear shorts or skirts. I refuse to buy a bikini. And I can't sugar coat my feelings just because it would be prettier to read about a woman who really knows how to handle her feelings about body image in a healthy way. I don't. I am sorry.
I can't remember a time in my life (before or after baby) when I wasn't hung up over something I hated about myself. I always thought that as a whole, I was a self confident person. I mean, anyone in my presence would think so. I
I was watching Tyra Banks the other morning on The View, she came on to talk about this weight loss evolution. She's teamed up with Special K to help empower women to be proactive about the things they don't like about themselves. Sure it was a positive message to send out to the world but all I could think was, "that's easy for one of the most famous super models in the world to say." Even with all the good intentions and motivation that is so easy for each of us to access today (insert motivational quote from Pinterest here), I still feel the way I do at the end of the day.
I am ready to show it and share it. I want to take you through the mind of someone that just can't ever deal.
For the sake of this post, I stepped on a scale tonight for the first time in over a year. It's been that long because I've just been avoiding it! Even though my weight since baby has fluctuated and I've been able to visibly see that I've lost weight some months, I still don't even want to know. I block those three numbers out of my mind and store them in a locked file cabinet with a lost key.
Because what is this number. Does it really even have any single real value if muscle weighs more than fat does? If every ounce of fat that is on my body was actually muscle, wouldn't that number on that scale be even higher?
But for this journey that I an opening up on tonight, I have. I take a nervous breath. I tap to register the scale. I see the zero signalling it's ready for me to rise onto it. And here I am, waiting to be told. Holding my breath or what may be rising vomit. And now this piece of shit device is telling me that I weigh 162.2 pounds and my self worth is filling up every single ounce of that number.
Before Elivia I was around 140. I thought I weighed too much then. I also avoided scales then.
By 39 weeks of pregnancy I was somewhere up in 180. The maximum amount my doctor wanted me to gain was thirty pounds. I remember her asking me if I was bothered or concerned by gaining weight and I just waving it off and saying, "not at all." Truthfully, I thought that the baby weight would just come off. I thought that I was young enough to spring back really quickly.
In my first and second trimesters I kept up with walking and doing some yoga to stretch out and sooth my morning sickness. In those months I was throwing up so much that I was constantly worrying that the baby wasn't getting enough food and it would die. I tried everything I could to stop the sickness. Lozenges, Zofran, motion sickness bracelets, two saltines and half a bottle of water before my feet even touched the ground in the morning, mint gum, mint anything, cold baths, bland tasteless foods, more water. But for those first two trimesters I was stuck. When the third hit, I was knocked flat on my ass. My baby belly just grew and grew and grew some more. And the thing was, I was only craving foods like olives, red meat, and corn. But despite everything I was doing to prevent a horrifying future I knew the game was over when one week I suddenly got stretch marks everywhere and I could no longer reach my legs to shave them but more importantly, I stopped giving a shit. I said "to hell with caring, it's going to happen anyway." I gave up on feeling beautiful in my eighth month of pregnancy. And I didn't get the desire back until Elivia was around five months old. That's half a year spent ignoring my body and not even passing glances in mirrors I walked by.
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| 7 Months Pregnant |
But even though pregnancy was the push over the edge, I had always had a self image problem. I dote on things like this so much because I struggle with depression. Where one girl may feel like she needs to lose some weight, I just feel like I'm disgusting and unworthy of anyone ever being attracted to me. My feelings get amplified. And there's not a damn motivational speech I could ever find that would radically change my way of thinking and feeling. I've tried.
I wish more than anything else that I could pull myself away from the way my brain works but I just can not. It's a life long struggle. It's something I battle every day. And so when I look in the mirror and I see my scars that cover my body from my hips to my knees, and I see the baby belly that just wont leave me, I'm not only fighting not to like it but I'm fighting not to completely demolish myself as a human being.
A lot of young girls get asked after they have had a newborn for three months, what they think about having a baby, and the majority replies, "I didn't think it would be this hard."
I did.
I knew that the baby would be a challenge, I was realistic and prepared, and it has turned out to be less of a challenge than I expected because I knew. My expectation was to struggle with a baby, but I pulled through with flying colors because my knowledge was power.
The challenge I wasn't prepared for was the after effects on my body from having a baby.
I wasn't expecting to have a war inside my body and mind.
Having a baby has changed the way I view my body and the way I view other peoples bodies too. It's made me believe, down to the very core of my being, that everyone is not what they are on the outside. And the only thing about another person that I should ever be concerned about is, are they kind? Are they genuinely kind? Are they compassionate, do they find they can easily relate to me and vice versa, is it comfortable to be around them even in silence? This may have a heavy toll on my mind but in my heart, it's making me a better person.
I wish so badly and I dream of a day where I will be at peace with myself. Where a single thought in my head won't be scared. I will be healthy and grateful for it. And I will never think on it twice, I will never have to write a blog post on this subject two times over.
This is real. If you come here to read this you're going to find me. You're going to see my pain spilled out in black and white letters. And watch me struggle and in time, change and grow, and become different. You are going to know me. And when I have happy days and I'm counting my blessings, I'll share that with you too.
But today, I just don't love the skin I'm in.
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