As most women, the story that belongs to the identity of my body, goes back to before the awareness of its importance: I remember being a young girl and listening to others comments about my legs, or butt, or how shapely I was, and thinking, “I wonder what the big deal is? It’s just a limb!” Bombarded with images from the media and what an “ideal woman/girl” should look like, created visions in my head, comprised of the imperfections of my perception. I was too thin, my butt too big, my hair was not straight enough, too dark –
my mouth too sultry. I was lost in the world’s translation of what a woman is – and none of it was what or I was felt true.
By the time high school came around, I like most adolescent girls, was thrown into a world of insecurity and a sexual undertone that I didn’t quite understand. Once the realization that boys found me attractive hit home, the fact that I was coveted from the beginning, allowed the lost little girl within to identify too easily with the image consciousness that surrounded. Remaining true to a core yet not understood, I refused to have sex with anyone until I felt that I was truly cared for.
After 18 I meet someone that I thought cared about me, and gave into my desires. Only to find out that it was all smoke and mirrors. This became the beginning of the end. I was thrust into a world of depravity, where only my flesh mattered. I used it as a justification for a sense of importance, that I did not yet own – gratification on a shallow level. Physically comparable to the likes of any pop star known as a sex symbol, I used this physique to conquer any man that I desired…only to feel empty on the inside.
I searched for a meaning in the flesh that never arrived. When the pinnacle of this search arrived, I was an empty shell, left emotionally battered and bruised. I arrived at a dark place with the realization that my exterior was not what I had to give the world. I was pretty (unknown until now), sexy, intelligent, and with a lot to offer, but lost myself, when I allowed others to use me as a prize. In allowing others to give importance to a body, I gave away myself. After countless lovers and empty feelings, the reality that I was more and deserved love for being myself, finally started coming into view. Who cares what I look like
on the outside, if I was miserable on the inside?
I decided to take a year off of dating and false relationships, something that was a constant in my life up to that point, to truly find myself. The real me…and it was at this point that I found the two most important things in my life – up to that point: my self, and my husband.
I learned to love myself for who I am and not for an image that was to be revered. He came to me in the perfect time with no pretense and no intensions of using my body as a trophy. To him, I was not a statuesque muse, there for the sole purpose of satisfying deep feelings and urges. He loved me as much as the curves in my thighs, and the fullness of my lips, the roundness of my butt, and the length of my legs and the small breasts that for so long were deemed inadequate. He loved me for me: for a mind that was learning to explore the depths of a soul, and the importance of a relationship – not only an exterior that all judge.
Together we have started a family, and I can say that with this family has come a new body consciousness. No longer do I have a flat stomach and long muscular legs. My lean curves have been replaced with a wider frame and a slight muffin top that seems to reduce as I become active – and the interesting part of it all, it that I am happier now, with this mom fluff, than I ever was as a “sexy” 20 something. The mom fluff has been accompanied with a sense of importance. I’ve replaced nights of hip hugging jeans, high heels, and mid riff shirts for days and nights at home wearing cotton pajamas. In lieu of tight clothes hugging my body, leaving the imagination aflutter, I have children that clench tightly to a stretch mark ridden soft belly, left by two natural single births and a twin c-section. Cellulite ridden legs, tell the tales of sleepless nights. Nights that once belonged to silky smooth legs, which combed the nightclubs in the search of something, which I never found, have been replaced by nights pacing the halls of my home in order to care for my sick or scared children.
With mom-hood has come a deep sense of pride, in my body. No longer a shell to be adored by the masses as an object of beauty: but as a temple to be revered for the creation that it holds within. I am the divine and the divine lie within me – creation in its purest form. I know the secret of holding a life within: a life waiting to come and be guided by me, because of lessons learned through tears and happiness.
I dedicate these lessons to my daughters and sons. I teach about true love of self, and acceptance of others, by accepting myself. With love and open arms. My daughters know that through the content of my actions through the ability to look in a mirror without quivering, I am perfect the way that I am – mom fluff and all. My sons learn to appreciate all that is woman, mother and creation, through seeing their mother love herself unconditionally, and by watching their father love her, in all of her new curved glory.
To all of those that are struggling I dedicate this. I hope that you find your true self, in love with all that is right, because it is so.