I have been parenting for over five years, my body was engaged in the process of delivering four unique kids, the last of whom were twins. Now, having only a seven-month-old baby, I am getting back to my old self, doing morning exercises, and at last, there are some changes. It’s as if this body has gone through a battle and has emerged from it victorious.
My entire life I’ve always been a bit overweight, but had hidden it under a bright smile, perfect hair, and well-done makeup. Finally, in college, after hitting my desired weight, I felt ecstatic about it, the time-consuming strict diet and training has become my daily routine. At the same time, my then-boyfriend Mike fell in love with me in any size. However, I was thirsty for the gaze of others, that special second when all the people were looking at me.
There were excessively rapid weight-loss methods that I got the use of so quickly that losing about 10 pounds for the wedding and the honeymoon was such a cinch, although my weight never remained the same afterward. It wasn’t that I had an eating disorder, but I was taking my actions from the place of punishing my body, not loving and admiring it. Even when it was quite unhealthy, I was after control.
The fact that my body was growing together with the first two of my pregnancies was exciting, and I managed to shed almost 50 lbs from my weight each time. However, that was a solitary achievement, for I felt something was missing in my joy, and I realized my motivation was lynch and self-criticism. I was growing smaller, but not the task that I had set for my body.
It was a shock to discover that I was pregnant with twins — how much more pregnant seemed my already huge, basketball-sized belly. I was honestly terrified of carrying two babies at once. I could hardly imagine what awaited my body now.
While I was going through the process of pregnancy, the most empowering mindset that I had was to look at my body as an object unrelated to me. Every time I felt the panic approaching, I’d say to myself over and over, You are just a vessel, you are just a vessel. But it worked. I felt the support of the journey and accepted it without fear.
However, even though I was still in shock, reality greeted me postpartum—I was bruised, swollen, and a furnace of healing from surgery, a flat tire, and an example and symbol of what I had previously been through. In all this, I desired it with grief, at the same time, I was full of gratitude for bringing two of my girls safely to 37 weeks and 4 days. It was a tough fight, but my body shall win.
I swore to care for my body as a good mother—to feed it, to allow it to have its way, and to get rid of the guilty feelings. This time, my goals are only about me: the strength to carry children without suffering, the flexibility to evade strained muscles, and the confidence to rock any outfit (but the leggings will be forever). There’s no rush, no punishment—only the constant, self-love progress.
At the age of more than 30 and after four kids, I love my mom-bod with all the stretch marks and curves. Whenever a shadow of uncertainty came by, I reminded myself that I had been the one to crowdsource the creation of two babies at the same time. It shuts down completely.
