One Year

One year ago, we let all of you in on a little secret we had been keeping: I was pregnant!

Before I get into the topic I want to preface with a few things:

1) I've debated long and hard about whether or not to post this, because I don't want you to hear bragging or self-worship out of anything I'm going to say.

2) I don't want women who haven't had the same experience as me to do the whole self-depleting comparison game; it's not fair, and you know it, so please don't!

Ok! Now, lets get into it.

Growing up, I would say that my parents did a good job teaching us about our bodies in a healthy way. We were never overly concerned with the numbers on the scale, how we looked compared to other people, etc. As long as we took care of our bodies; nourished them, and kept them healthy, we were happy. Within the span of a year, the cumulative weight gain and loss that my body went through with pregnancy, birth, and postpartum recovery was over 120 pounds.

That. Is. A. Lot.

When the weight started coming off after birth, I got excited, of course. When I could get my old clothes back on, that was refreshing... I thought that all I had to do was get the weight off. I thought that once I had done that "great thing", I'd feel myself again.

But a few months after giving birth, I started to notice some nasty thoughts running through my head when I looked in the mirror. The first time, I was like "huh, that was weird; I must need a nap." Then it happened again and again, and I started to really feel self-conscious and unlike my old self. I realized it had never been just about the weight.

Mamas, your bodies go through a LOT. They gain so much weight in such a concentrated area that your anatomy LITERALLY changes. Your hormones get out of whack. You literally tear your body apart for the sake of your child. Be kind to your body! Keep in mind that it took almost an entire year to get the the point of birth. Let your body heal and reset; it was created by God with the purpose of birth in mind.

The last few months of my pregnancy, I had to go to the chiropractor multiple times a week because my body gained weight faster than my frame could keep up. My hips couldn't handle it; my back couldn't handle it, and it was making everything strained. My pelvis was holding so much weight that it was literally starting to split apart.

THAT'S A LOT.

But birth isn't the end, unfortunately. I know, encouraging, right? Birth is the beginning of healing from pregnancy. I had to get intentional about the thoughts in my head.

Eventually I had to start catching those thoughts, and intentionally replacing them with others like:

"God used this body to create an entire human: arms that punched it, legs that kicked it. It suffered and molded itself --this body is adaptable and has endurance."

"Man! This body did LIFE with a 60 pound 'weighted vest' on 24/7; day and night; waking and sleeping --this body is strong."

"This body birthed one, and nourishes two human beings --this body is capable."

Give your body grace. God gave women patience, strength, endurance, and the sheer will necessary to triumph over birth; don't let yourself get hung up on the thoughts in your head.

I saw a poem someone wrote about pregnancy and birth that ultimately was what allowed my eyes to start to love the character that pregnancy has given my body. I don't remember the exact words, but there was a part of the poem that went "Here is my body, broken for you... Here is my body; take and eat."

Humbling. Powerful. How dare we insult the bodies God's gifted to us?

Birth is such a wonderful experience. What a beautiful picture of love and sacrifice that we get to experience here on earth to remind us how much our Heavenly Father loves us. It provides a depth to life that I didn't fully appreciate before. It is such a beautiful picture of self-sacrifice, love, and power. But ultimately points back to Christ and the Church; He was torn, bruised, beaten, mocked, dehumanized for us, and he did it without complaining.

Jesus never said to himself "Man, if only I had been more consistent to moisturize those scars on my hands, they wouldn't be so prominent."

When Jesus rose, nobody said to Him, "Dang, bro! You're looking rough."

Jesus didn't ask God why He gave Him the body He had.

When Jesus rose, He didn't wear shapers to make sure the scar on his side would fit in His clothes like they did before.

Why would we say or think those things to ourselves?

Here is my body broken for you.

Let that sink in.

I know that, statistically, girls are much more prone to negative self-talk than boys are, but even if God never entrusts me with a daughter, I still want my son to grow up and see a mother that is confident in her body. I want him to see a mother whose body is capable and healthy. I don't want him to see his mother look at her stretch marks with "that look". I don't want him to have a mother who looks at that other person's tighter tummy with jealousy. I want him to know that his body is something that he can be confident in. Yes, he needs to steward it wee, but that it is something that he can be proud of, even if it's scarred, stretched, and broken. I don't ever want him to wonder if I blame all of the changes in my body on him. I don't ever want him to even wonder if I wish I could have a different body.

When one day my son asks to hear the story of when he was born, I want to tell him the story of how the Lord knitted him together in my womb (Psalm 139:13-14). I want to tell him the story of how God created birth to mirror the story of our Savior. I want to tell him how my body was stretched to its capacity, molded, broken for him just as Jesus was beaten, mocked, and broken for us.

Dear Momma,

Next time you look in that mirror and start to spiral into the knit-picky thoughts about this thigh and that love handle

STOP YOURSELF.

Remember all that that body God gave you has done. Remember that what you see on your body is a story of strength, endurance, love. Remember that your kids, friends, those you mentor are watching --what do you want them learning from you about how to think about and treat their bodies?

Dear Momma,

Here is your body, broken for him/her. Here is your body that was taken, stretched, and eaten. Whenever you see this stretch mark or feel that skin, remember Him and the sacrifices He made for you.

Imagine how the world would be different if we were as nice to ourselves inside our heads as we are out loud to others.

If Jesus wouldn't say it about you, what gives you the right to think or talk about your body that way? It *is* His, after all, is it not?