Hello world, my name is Sara and I have issues. Lots and lots of issues. Big ones, small ones, weird ones, sad ones. Pick an issue and chances are I have it, or have had it, or I will develop it at some time in the near future. I am having an issue as I type this blog post. A part of me wants to curl up in a ball and sleep for a week while a part of me wants to develop an eating disorder, another part of me wants to flip a certain finger in the direction of some people and let it go.
Do you know how it feels to be told your body is “disgusting” after having children? This is my current all-consuming issue. Body shame. It is a big one to me, I dwell on those words. I get angry. I break down and cry, feeling utterly ugly and unlovable. I spend hours each week obsessing about what I ate, or what I didn’t eat, how many walks I took, how my clothes fit me. Goodness, clothes are so important when you are as disgusting as I am. Trust me, no one wants to see me in my naked glory of stretch marks, saggy skin or fat.
At the age of 36 I have 2 children. Having these children has ruined my body according to some people. Yes, you read that right. My kids ruined my body.
Here is the thing, I did gain weight since I had children. I have lost weight which just makes my skin look... saggy, stretched out, not magazine worthy at all. Places I didn’t know could wiggle, have more jiggle than I want to admit. My butt? Applying for statehood status. I had 2 c section babies. So I have a big scar above my pubic hair line.
My ruined body.
A few weeks ago I had the nerve to go to the pool with my family. I wore a very modest tankini. I know no one wants to see me in a bikini. I wore something that would cover my body so no one had to see the mess that is my stomach. It is not flat, nor is it likely to ever be like a washboard. I tried my best to keep everything in place, constantly tugging my tankini to cover my belly and as much of anything else it could cover. I feel self-conscious as it is. Being in a swimsuit is like... being in wet underwear. I generally don’t parade around in a bra and panties in front of my friends, family or neighbors, but I go to a pool to let the whole world judge me. I feel exposed. I feel like everyone is staring at me, are they? Who the heck knows, but I feel like they are. My husband hands me the baby and as I try to enjoy the moment, watching my son playing, I am looking at my beautiful daughter who is smiling and happy, the pool is new and exciting to her.
My husband wants a photo of the baby and I, so I adjust to hold her at an angle that will allow him to capture both of our faces. As he is saying “Smile” I hear the laughter. I try to tell myself that people are having fun, it is a pool after all! Then I hear it again, and again. I feel eyes on me. I know I must have blushed. I look up to see 2 teenage girls laughing at me and staring one of them said, “That is so gross!” I am the object of their amusement. Me and my ruined body. I feel the breeze on a strip of my stomach where my top has worked its way up. I feel like I could cry, or leave and vow to never go swimming again unless it is in our backyard.
That was not a good feeling. The rest of the day, every time those girls laughed, I felt like they were laughing at me, or some other Mom with a ruined, gross body. When we got home I had a good long cry. I completely wallowed in self-pity. I tucked the swim suit into the back of a drawer, or maybe it went to the attic... I won’t be wearing it again probably.
If there has ever been a day when I could fall apart completely, a day when I felt like maybe I was so gross that I could die and spare everyone I know from the pain and ickiness of looking at me, it was that day.
I spent a long time reflecting on that. I looked in the mirror. I searched to see signs of this hideous monster that I had become. I saw a 36 year old woman that looked tired. My hair is really cute in this style. My outfit was good. A decent skirt and a casual yet nice top. I had on great shoes, pretty nail polish.... My butt is big! I know that, but I am okay with it. The last time I checked booty size was not a factor in what was in my heart. My butt doesn’t make me a monster. My belly is a belly. I wish it were flatter, smaller. But, really how many people are subjected to the scar, the stretch marks, the evidence that my body made not one, but two miracles happen? Not very many. My upper arms are a nightmare for me, but my kids seem to think these hideous monster-ish arms give great hugs.
If I couldn’t see these monstrosities that are worthy pointing and laughing and hurling harsh words about my disgusting body why were they so evident to other people?
My body changed. I may have “ruined” my body according to the standards of the general masses, but when it comes down to it, my body tells a story. A story of childhood, illnesses, accidents, drunken days of youth, adventures I am glad I took. Chances I gambled on. My body tells a story of loss, of love and of miracles. I made two little people in this body. Every stretch mark, flabby patch of skin, every jiggle, every inch of my booty was well earned. I don’t regret one single imperfection. They have all been worth it.
So, to the teenage girls that laugh at me in a swimsuit, I would like to say, thank you. You have reminded me that I have to work harder to make my children realize we shouldn’t measure a person’s worth because of their looks or lack of looks. We shouldn’t let someone else tell us we are gross because we have babies. We shouldn’t tolerate that type of behavior. Anyone shallow enough to look at your beautiful miraculous body and point out your flaws isn’t worthy of your time or your love. Your dress size doesn’t determine what kind of person you are.
To my children, I want to say, you absolutely didn’t ruin my body. You made it better than it ever was before. You have softened me in all the right ways. For that, I thank you.
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