My Struggle with Loving the Woman in the Mirror

Image Credit to Olivia Hinebaugh

All throughout my life, I was tiny. Although a size one who ate plenty, I was not immune to the "you look sorta anorexic" jab. My once high metabolism and eight years of dance were to thank for that. I never thought I looked anorexic, so I came to believe it was an attempt to bring me down, despite me being perfectly healthy.

After I graduated high school, I decided to take a gap year. I did not feel confident enough to make a career decision at only 17, so I got a job to save up some money. I met my now boyfriend at the end of my senior year, so I also saw it as a chance to spend quality time with him.

In the month of December, we found out I was pregnant. We had discussed having kids before, but we didn't expect it to be so soon. Admittedly, we weren't exactly careful, so it wasn't a complete surprise, but definitely not unwanted. As a result, we took every opportunity that came our way to start getting our lives together. He got a job and I continued to work 'til it became too much for my body to handle (and my place of employment did not exactly treat me well, i.e. they made me complete tasks a pregnant woman should not do and had me working 6+ hours straight without a break nor letting me sit down to rest for a bit).

Throughout the nine months, I stayed relatively small—gestational diabetes was to thank for that. I started to get my first stretch marks around the six month. The first few appeared on my breasts, and one or two on my hips, but nothing more than that. It wasn't until the last month of my pregnancy that a lot appeared on my butt and the ones I had beforehand gained more companions. From there, they spread like wildfire, and having pale skin made them very prevalent.

After I gave birth to my beautiful baby girl, I found out how hard it was to take care of a newborn, especially when most of it is done by yourself when your partner is at work. I was exhausted constantly, so home cooked meals were few and far between. Take out was much more enticing to me than prepping meals every night, which in hindsight, was a big contributor to the weight gain.

At my postpartum appointment, I weighed in at 125 pounds, a 17 pound difference to pre-pregnancy. I now weigh 153, a size 8, and startled as to why my body hasn't bounced back like it used to.

When I look down, I see a body that has made a child from literally a single cell, nurtured it for nine months, and then mustered enough strength to bring it into this world and continue to care of her every need. But, when I look in the mirror, I see a body that I do not recognize. She is so different than what she used to be. How can I love her, when I feel like I don't even know her?

But then, I look into her eyes. The same eyes that look at her child and see her very world staring back, knowing that she would do anything to make sure that baby was happy, healthy, and loved.

I look at her face. The same face that she can see in her beautiful baby girl. The dark circles that signify the long nights when her baby just wanted to be held, and when she finally fell asleep, instead of falling asleep with her baby, she continued to admire her innocent child, just... a little... longer.

I look at her chest. The same chest that was able to provide food for her little one, to help her grow and develop. Yes, they are no longer the same, but what they have accomplished makes them all that more amazing.

I look her stomach. The same stomach that was her little one's first home. It provided everything her baby could need for her first nine months of life in utero. It is no longer flat and the reason her old jeans can no longer be buttoned. But that is fine, jeans don't just come in a size 0.

I look at her, and I realize she is amazing, beautiful, loving, nurturing, and so much more. Yes, her body is not what it used to be.

It is so much more now.

I see that she is me, and I love her.