As I reflect on my childhood photographs from elementary school, I see a tall, awkward girl with gangly limbs, oversized acid-wash jeans, and an unfortunate perm. I was outgrowing my peers due to early puberty, which added to my discomfort. In those snapshots, I often wore baggy shirts or sweaters, trying to conceal my developing body. It was around this time that the seeds of body shame were planted in me. I began to believe that my body was too large, too curvy, and taking up too much space.
Fast forward to today, nearly four decades into my life, and I’m relieved to say that these feelings have transformed. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment my perspective shifted, but over the past five years, as I approached my 40th birthday, something changed. Perhaps it’s the wisdom that comes with age or the newfound “I don’t care” attitude that has blossomed within me. Regardless, I finally feel at home in my own skin, no longer burdened by the need to hide.
Like many women, my weight fluctuated throughout my teens and twenties. I’m genetically predisposed to be curvy—wider hips, larger breasts, and a shorter torso. Yet, I fell into the common trap of believing that I could reshape my body to fit society’s narrow definitions of beauty. Though I was never brave enough to resort to extreme measures, I struggled for years with an unhealthy relationship with food and my body.
There were times when I barely ate, skipping meals and over-exercising, only to swing to the opposite extreme and binge-eat everything in sight. Neither approach worked, and even at my slimmest, my curves remained. After giving birth to my first child at 28, I gained 40 pounds, only to find that I still had an extra 25 to lose after welcoming my little one into the world. This weight became a turning point, forcing me to reconsider how I viewed my body.
Motherhood opened my eyes to the purpose of my curves. I learned to appreciate my body as it nurtured and sustained my children. The focus shifted away from my self-critique to the care of my family, making it easier to relinquish my obsession with achieving an unrealistic body ideal.
It wasn’t until I turned 34, after the birth of my second child, that I truly began to embrace my body. I started eating balanced meals without deprivation or excess. Letting go of my scale helped alleviate anxiety, and now, when I do weigh myself, it’s a much calmer experience. I’ve realized that there’s a healthy weight range for me, and it doesn’t involve comparing myself to others.
While my relationship with my body isn’t perfect—there are still moments when I critique my appearance—I’ve learned to recognize those thoughts and move forward. I know that not everyone reaches this level of body acceptance, and I’m still unclear how I got here. Time and life experiences have contributed, and for that, I am grateful.
Letting go of constant self-criticism has been liberating, granting me space to focus on what truly matters. Loving my body equates to loving and respecting myself. My body is no longer just an object that occupies space; it shines and radiates beauty.
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In summary, my journey toward body acceptance at nearly 40 has been transformative. I’ve learned to cherish my curves, embrace self-love, and focus on the beauty of life beyond mere appearances.