Learning to love my body, again.

Last week I went to a little shop downtown and tried on a few dresses for fun. As I was leaving the store the girl asked me how I liked them and without even thinking I said: “I didn’t. But to be honest I think it has more to do with my body than with the clothes.” As I walked to the car I thought about how I felt in that dressing room, which was mostly flabby and frustrated. Then I drove home embarrassed for talking about my body that way.

I’m living this tension—I want to be all positive body image. I want my focus to be on feeling strong and healthy. I want to teach my daughters that our worth isn’t found in our jean size. I really do. But in the same breath I’m mean and impatient with my own body. I want it to go back, and if I’m honest I’m afraid that it won’t.

I thought I had this whole body image thing figured out. I worked so hard to get to a healthy place after college. Then I actually had a baby and realized the kind of mark they leave on you. I had to learn to appreciate how my baby fit snug on my new hips and my belly was the perfect pillow to lay her little head on. But now here I am for the third time, wondering why it feels so dang hard to be content.

I wish this was just something you learn once and then you’re good, but it feels like I’m back at square one.

But I’m not actually starting over, I realize. I find I’m better at catching myself when my mind starts spiraling to that ugly place of mean thoughts. I remind myself often that my body has permission to be different than what it used to be. When I fail at this, I’m quicker to admit it to friends + ask for prayer. This go around, I’m spending a lot more time asking God to help me see myself the way He sees me.

In this whole process of two steps forward, one step back I realize that I am still moving forward. So onward I’ll go. I’ll relearn to love this new body and see it as beautiful. Stretch marks and all.