Motherhood & body image
Featured photo by Love & Lore Photography.
I’ve been relatively petite and thin my whole life. I attribute this mostly to a fast metabolism, but to my credit, I was an athletic child and maintained a moderate level of physical activity until I graduated from high school. Despite my small frame, I remember feeling self-conscious about my stomach even as a young girl.
In freshman year health class, every student was tasked with setting three health goals for the school year. I was fourteen, weighing in at a whopping 115 lbs. I remember thinking, I should lose weight to get back to the 100 pounds I’d maintained throughout middle school. I wrote “lose fifteen pounds” on my goal list.
When the teacher came around the room to evaluate what each of us had individually written, she looked at me, puzzled, and said, “Ashleigh, you don’t have fifteen pounds to lose.”
In hindsight, she was right. I genuinely wonder what went through her mind when she saw that on my list. Did it make her as sad as it makes me today?
I can’t quite pinpoint where exactly I learned the rule that skinny bodies were beautiful. There were certainly many sources teaching me. Countless movies and TV shows put thin women’s bodies in front of me. Tabloids surrounded me in line at the grocery store, criticizing celebrities, girls and women I grew up watching, for their changing bodies and weight gain.
One memory that stands out was arriving at an annual family Christmas party and watching my great-aunt greet my mother, a stay-at-home mom of four children. I watched her give my mother a hug, then mutter in her ear disapprovingly, “My god, you’ve gotten fat.”
I looked around, wondering, Did anyone else hear that? If they did, they didn’t act like it. Even at my young age, I knew that was wrong. My mom dedicated her entire life to her family. She has always been a selfless, kind-hearted, and loving parent. It shocked me to witness someone reduce her to the size of her body.
Message received, though! Fat: ugly. Skinny: beautiful.
As I grew into a young woman, I felt proud of my physique. Recreational dance was my primary source of physical activity throughout college. After graduation, I developed a consistent exercise routine and worked hard to be fit. I was in the best shape of my life when I got pregnant and I stayed active throughout my first pregnancy.
After a healthy, uncomplicated birth, I felt motivated to bounce back immediately. I wanted to be on my feet, doing chores and power walking. I felt this need to prove that, despite undergoing the most insane shift of my life, I possessed the power and discipline to return to the body size and level of fitness I had before. It wasn’t until after I had my second child that I realized I had essentially been bullying myself with the first.
I was under the care of a homebirth midwife with my second. She was adamant about rest. She forbade me from going up and down the stairs for the first two weeks postpartum, insisting I prioritize the health of my pelvic floor. She was very intentional in educating me and making sure I was both emotionally and physically cared for. She made rest and recovery the ultimate mission postpartum—not resuming the responsibilities of life as they were before.
This made me realize that the biggest lesson of this season is to slow down. Slow down and be present with my family. Slow down and give my body the respect it deserves. Slow down and develop compassion for myself.
Now I can’t unsee the toxicity of bounce back culture. Why do we want to erase the physical evidence of a transformation that our entire mind, body, and spirit has undergone? Why do we glorify returning to what we looked like before, when we have become someone new?
I am not arguing that mothers should not care for themselves. I am arguing that health and self-care don’t have to look like compulsive exercise for the sake of being smaller, or feeling guilty and devalued when our bodies aren’t.
Instead of focusing on how my body looks, I am choosing to focus on what it does.
Today, I have a tummy. She protrudes when I sit down. She protrudes when I stand. She is evidence of the miracles she is capable of. And she is beautiful.
Instead of focusing on how my body looks, I am choosing to focus on how it feels.
Today, I get out for walks and fresh air. I move because it feels good. I rest when my body tells me to rest.
This season is not about shrinking myself to fit the body I had in the past. It is about becoming. I have grown into someone new. My body is evolving and performing magic every day. It is a sanctuary for my children and for myself. It’s taking up the space it rightfully should.
