I’ve finally uncovered the sweet spot of body image, much like the elusive sweet spot of parenting and marriage. This realization has crept up on me over the years, and I can honestly say it’s a refreshing surprise. After spending far too much time scrutinizing my reflection and feeling disappointed, I now revel in the fact that I can confidently strut around my bathroom in the nude, catch a glimpse of my backside, and not scream in horror. That’s right — I can even give my dimpled rear a playful smack and cheer for myself while doing it. Talk about a personal victory!
It took me a while to embrace the idea that I am more than just a dress size, but now that I’m aboard this train, I have no intention of getting off. I’m not quite sure why it took me so long to get here, but I suspect it has something to do with the years spent trying to conform to the unrealistic body images that bombard us from every angle. From the first time I flipped through a fashion magazine in the late ’80s until now, I bought into the myth that “thinner is better, thinner is sexier, and thinner equals happiness.” What a load of nonsense.
This 44-year-old body? Let’s talk about what it can do, and frankly, I don’t care that I’m not a size 4 anymore. This body has brought four incredible humans into the world, one of whom is now towering at 6 feet tall. As for my belly — it may not be the flat, washboard kind after four kids, and yes, it jiggles, but it jiggles with more joy than Santa’s belly. Pass the peppermint bark!
This body has nourished those four little ones with breasts that are now a shadow of their former selves. They could use a bra that could lift and separate, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Let’s return to the fact that my body produced the milk that sustained those four lives. That’s the kind of bust that should be celebrated, not shamed.
My arms, while they may struggle with “girl” push-ups, have spent years lifting 30-pound toddlers, hauling them in and out of car seats, cribs, and strollers. They may not be ready for a magazine cover, but the love and warmth they’ve given make them far more beautiful than the lanky arms found on supermodels.
Those curvy hips and sturdy thighs may need a little extra encouragement to fit into jeans these days, and yes, they rub together and chafe, but they’ve carried me more miles than I can count. We’re all aware that our bodies change as we age. “Oh, you’re in your 40s now? Just wait,” they say. “Everything will start to fall apart.” But you know what? Who cares? Am I strong? Absolutely. Am I healthy overall? For sure. Do I love my body? You bet! I adore that I can keep up with my kids, play tennis, ride a bike with the enthusiasm of an 8-year-old, and leap off the high dive without a moment’s hesitation.
I love that my husband still finds me attractive, that I can dance to rap music, and that my mind contributes more to the world than a “perfect body” ever could. My heart beats with more love and joy than it ever did in a smaller frame.
This new body I’m learning to love doesn’t care about being smaller or sexier. It may be softer, wider, and slower, but ever since I began to appreciate it for all it can do, I’ve realized that those qualities make it far more significant than any number on a scale.
If you’re interested in more about the journey of self-love and body positivity, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. And if you’re curious about the tools available for starting a family, consider visiting Make A Mom.
In summary, embracing my body in my 40s has been a journey of self-acceptance and gratitude. It’s about celebrating what my body can do rather than focusing on what it looks like. Confidence has replaced my earlier insecurities, making me appreciate the gift of life and love I’ve been given.