Who Do You See In The Picture?
In this photo I was 26, and just weeks away from becoming a mom. These polaroids where taken at my baby shower, in a Malibu apartment with all of my girlfriends--none of whom were moms yet. I got a LOT of really, really cute and unpractical gift that day. God bless them.
I remember seeing this photo of myself after the party was over. I was driving in our Jeep with Jeffrey on PCH, and as I scrolled through the album on facebook I started to cry. They were not tears of joy or gratitude as you would expect, and I wasn’t reflecting on the baby girl I was so close to holding.
No, I cried for myself. And for my body. When I looked at these photos of myself, I did not see a glowing mama--I saw a double chin + flabby arms, and hated the way I looked.
It sounds silly and immature, but it’s the truth. I was focused on how my once toned belly was now stretched out. How my face seemed to be the place I gained the most weight. How my arms looked twice as big as normal. The list went on as I cried to Jeffrey (and felt bitter than he was getting a child and didn’t have to lose his 20-something body for it). Weeks away from meeting my daughter--I was consumed with my image, and with myself.
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This week I stumbled upon this photo. I was brought back to the memory of crying in the passenger seat of our Jeep, five years ago. When I look at the girl in this picture, I have some things I wish I could tell her.
I wouldn’t scold her or say "grow up" or tell her that she was being vain. No. I would lean in, and I would listen to her fears. I would nod along, because I get it. I know it’s hard letting our bodies change. I would tell her it takes time and sometimes we take steps back. I would let her vent and let her be seen.
I would also tell her that her whole world is about to explode with love + joy + goodness. That little baby in her belly? She would grow to become a wild + beautiful child who noticed beauty everywhere and in everyone. That little girl would grow to love clothes and expressing herself through fashion, almost as much as her mama. That same baby girl would grow up and on a random Wednesday look at her mom in the eyes with her tiny hands on her face and tell her she was beautiful. And she would believe it because her daughter said it with such matter of factness.
I would tell that younger Stephanie that it’s okay to grieve what is no more. To feel the loss of a season that’s gone. To miss a body that was untouched by sacrifice.
I would also tell her that what’s coming is good. It’s worth it. It’s beautiful in a new way.
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This post was inspired by the podcast #10thingstotellyou episode 37 called "Who do you see in the picture?". I loved the exercise of speaking truth over a younger me. I think I might just go through the archives and pull out a few more photos of some younger Stephanie’s...there’s A LOT more I would tell myself.