Body of Work

My body and I have never been overly fond of each other. I was largely raised by an amazing grandmother who practiced food as love. I had juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. I had a thyroid tumor irradiated during college. As a result, my pre-pregnancy weight has bounced from a high school low of 115 to a grad school high somewhere around 160 (I stopped getting on the scale after 155).

When I got engaged, I decided to clean up my act and vowed never to go above 125 again. I kept that vow until pregnancy. Still, even at my lowest weight, even at my fittest, I have always been ashamed of how I look. I finished my first bike century in 2015, and felt so good about myself until the moment I sat down in the car and looked at my thighs. My immediate thought was “those look like walruses. Sure you can ride 100 miles, but maybe if you rode without eating so much, something good would come from it.” Even as I thought it, I knew just how fucked up it was, but I couldn’t stop the thought.

At the start of each pregnancy, I was 118. With A and T, my weight gain topped at 23 pounds. I stress ate my way through their NICU stay and came home at 127. I reached 124 by the time I returned to work. I was 120 by their first birthday. I’m 116 now.

Writing that down, it looks awesome. I, on the other hand, do not look awesome.

This 116 is not a good 116. Yes, my arms rock, from carrying around 20+ pound babies. My back is stronger. I can do lunges (to stand while holding a baby) like nobody’s business. I’m fit enough to walk the 5 mile around-the-lake-loop in 16 minute miles and then do another 3 miles with the babies in the stroller later in the day. But that’s where the good ends. My middle? My middle is just thick. I don’t look 116 in my middle. I look pregnant in my middle.

Here’s the thing: as upset as I am at my body, I am even more upset at my mind for being upset with my body. I *hate* that this takes up headspace. Further, I look at T and I would do just about anything to keep her from experiencing the self-hatred that I feel. I practice positive mental self talk. I practice observing without judging: “Hey, look, it’s a body” vs “Hey, look, I’m tubby.” The farthest I’ve been able to come after years of this is to instantly recognize that my negative self talk isn’t helpful and to occasionally observe without judging. Having this new post-partum body, though, that’s reduced the observe without judging ability. Turns out I was only observing without judging when I was thinner.

Because of my daughter, I will keep trying. Because I want her to have a healthy relationship with her own body. And with food. Because of my daughter I will tell my mom, bluntly, to STFU when she ‘jokingly’ comments that T needs to stop drinking so many bottles because she’s got a big belly. (Yes, she said this before T was 1. Yes, I told her to STFU. Yes, I see where my issues might have come from.) Maybe I’ll be able to make progress again. Maybe not. I heard that wisdom comes with age, so maybe greater acceptance will too. That said, I’m still waiting on my wisdom!