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Everything concerning the physical sides of motherhood have gone pretty easily for me. My pregnancy and labor/ delivery were perfectly healthy. So, throughout my first few weeks postpartum I figured I was just gifted, and that the 33 pounds I’d gained during pregnancy would surly just fall right off once I got breastfeeding established. And to some extent it did. At my 6 week postpartum check up I was only 7 pounds away from my pre-pregnancy weight, which was perfectly fine with me. I was sure my weight loss would continue and I’d shrink down to my wedding weight and maybe wither down to my college weight of 140. At least I hoped I would.

That was a reassuring thought as I scarfed down milkshakes and huge chocolate chip cookies. I helped myself to big meals and second helpings. Not because I was being careless, but because I was hungry. Breastfeeding made me ravenous. I had a hearty appetite, and I knew I shouldn’t ignore it if I wanted to continue breastfeeding. I figured nursing, sleep and once I went back to work, my job was more than enough to have on my plate. Worrying about my weight seemed unimportant. Especially since I was continuously getting smaller. But 6 weeks turned into two months, then 3, 4, 5 and 6 months. I hadn’t lost the weight. In fact I actually had started to back slide. I was gaining weight. I never berated my pregnant body. I loved my big, round belly, and I was very kind to my immediate postpartum body, but as time went on, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t love my new post baby body. I knew my body had worked hard. I knew I had grown a human and expanded tremendously to accommodate and nourish the life of the baby I love dearly. I knew at only 6 months I was still healing. But it didn’t help me like what I saw. It didn’t help me feel confident in my new shape.

This was especially upsetting because I had worked so hard to accept my pre-baby body my entire life. I grew up with a complex about my size. I was never even a fat or over weight child. I was on the taller and curvier side as I approached puberty. In junior high this complex turned into a problem. I hated what I saw and in an attempt to find approval of my body I began some very unhealthy habits. I started by often strictly restricting my diet; cutting out butter and condiments, allowing myself only 7 tortilla chips at Mexican restaurants. I began to take pride in my self when I skipped meals, turned down desserts or had a growling stomach as I got into bed. I even chewed and spit out food I craved instead of eating “bad” things. Eventually I stopped having my period. I didn’t have a full blown eating disorder or need hospitalization, but my eating was definitely disordered and body image was skewed. I was unhealthy and I was unhappy.

During high school I transferred schools. Girls at my new school commented how “skinny” I was and treated food much differently than at my old school. They normalized eating and healthy frames, which was the good influence I needed. I quickly adopted healthier habits and focused a lot less on depriving myself, because honestly that is no way to live. Physically I was healthier, but it took a lot longer for my body image to adjust. I still was very critical of my body no matter what I weighed, and during times of stress, even until college, I would fall back on old habits; periods of hunger and then binges on fast food, or abusing laxatives.

As I got older, I realized how normal, healthy and awesome my body was. Finally at 24 I could confidently wear a bikini in the pool. That was after 10 years of positivity, fluctuations and growth that got me to a place of acceptance. When I got pregnant and couldn’t wait to actually look pregnant. Once I did I was happy to expand, and often admired my round belly. I felt good and felt beautiful. I was actually excited for once to wear a bikini in the pool and flaunt the bump I was so proud of, and eat without any guilt or fear at the pool.

27 weeks pregnant

But after Holden was born my baby bump looked more like a waterbed, and I examined it daily to see if it had shrunk at all. I got more and more discouraged as I saw the progress slow down, and I saw the scale begin to creep up again. Nobody told me that I would have intense nursing cravings (worse than pregnancy cravings in my case.) Nobody told me that I would be so hungry while breastfeeding, hungrier than when I was pregnant. People just don’t talk about the realities  of postpartum life or breastfeeding at all, and our society doesn’t talk about postpartum weight loss in realistic ways. I felt pressured to work out and diet, but I was so exhausted. I would come home from work, and I had no time or energy to pour into a rigorous work out. I started to feel defeated, and once again dreaded the summertime and the looming possibility of getting in a swim suit again. I still wear maternity jeans, and nursing tops and bras that do very little to flatter my figure, or boost my ego. I broke down all of the impacts postpartum life has had on my body in an earlier post that you can read here. Now at 26 I look at my stomach that is quite a bit less firm and wonder will I ever be able to live in peace with this new body again? Will I ever look in the mirror without criticizing what I see?

I have very few pictures that show my postpartum body. I don’t have any showing my stomach, but I remember hating this one at only 5 weeks postpartum because of how I looked.

I felt like all the progress I had made had been undone. I was banking on breastfeeding to melt the extra 15- 20 pounds off of me, but instead it seemed to be the problem. I am afraid to diet for fear of losing my milk supply, and now that my son is 8 months old I am determined to continue our breastfeeding relationship to at least a year. I never deprive my body now and make an attempt to eat as many fruits, vegetables and healthful food as possible. I try to drink a lot of water and treat myself too, but that doesn’t necessarily make loving this body any easier. I have started adding workout into my routine as life with a baby is now much more manageable, and is my new normal. But being cruel to myself does nothing, and cheapens the experience my body has gotten me through.

(My mom, Holden, and I on my first Mother’s Day. I was afraid to post this picture on Instagram because my stomach is still bigger than I’d like it to be, but I decided that there is no shame in hiding the reality of my postpartum body. I am grateful to celebrate Mother’s Day, and to celebrate it with my own mother. Hiding this picture because of my own insecurities, just didn’t seem worth it.)

I realized that berating the body that had done so much for me, and for my son, was not only useless, but wrong. It was ungrateful. My body deserves much more respect than to be judged so superficially. I body had grown a human being. A human being that is thriving, healthy, and strong. My body alone fed him for SIX MONTHS, and continues to nourish him, and now other babies as well since I am donating milk. My arms lift, carry, cuddle and hug that baby. My hips and legs sway, bounce, and rock, and walk him to sleep. My stomach may be squishier, there may be more of me than I would like, but criticizing the body that has done so much for our family is criminal.

Originally this piece was titled “Learning To Love My Postpartum Body.” But I decided that was a lie. And what good is pretending to love my postpartum body, when 8 months later – I still don’t. How would that make other moms feel who are struggling to love their postpartum body? The only thing worse than seeing a woman who is effortlessly thin again weeks after a baby, is seeing a mom who has it all together, or is pretending to have it all together. How does that encourage women? I decided to not post this piece and think about it some more. After months of wrestling with self loathing I had come to a place of contentedness, but I was still struggling to LOVE this postpartum figure that I was often encouraged to celebrate via the mom forums, blogs, Facebook groups, and Instagram posts I read. This “body positivity” movement is great, and I love that it is helping women learn to love themselves, but it is still emphasizing appearances and emphasizing the celebration of it. Where do I fall when I am not full of self loving proclamations, and I am not a fitness junkie that is super proud to sport my “bounced back bikini body?” What if I have decided that my appearance is just not a priority at the moment?

I am exhausted trying to love this body that I just don’t. I don’t love not fitting into my clothes. I don’t love being overweight. I don’t love feeling ugly or frumpy. I don’t love feeling embarrassed in a swim suit at the pool, even though I know spending my son’s first summer with him is more important than hiding in the shade covered up due to my own vanity. I am exhausted trying to love this body and feeling defeated at yet another thing when I just don’t. Which is when I had a realization.

It is OK to not love this body, and it is possible to neither LOVE nor HATE my body at the same time. It is not an either or. It is ok to want changes, and plan on dieting and working out when it fits into my life style better. It’s ok that I’m not comfortable in a two piece this summer and it’s ok to want to make progress once I’m no longer breast feeding. It’s ok that I still wear maternity clothing. It is ok that I’m not in love with this new body, but I do not deserve to berate myself when I look in the mirror. I don’t deserve to deprive my hungry body of food when I am sustaining two people. I may not love this new body but I have decided to be kind to it, and part of that means making healthier choices, but as I wait for progress I will live in peace with this body I see covered in flaws because I have no other choice. Instead of living each day in hatred I decided to live in peace with this body. Living in peace with my postpartum self is deciding I am worthy of patience, grace, and kindness, and I am allowing myself time to achieve the body I would like without punishing myself throughout the entire process.

I refuse to hide my body in self shame and miss out of pool or beach time with my son. I refuse to spend his babyhood hating my appearance. I refuse to spend one minute feeling down or depressed over 15 extra pounds. I am healthy and I am able. That alone is priceless.  I have no desire to get my body “back.” My body is not and never was gone, it is simply transformed. I can’t and won’t get that body “back.” I can only go forward because the changes motherhood has had on me have been so profound that I will never be the same that I was before. And why would I want to be?