When I was growing up, I was ridiculed for being too thin – too imperfect by the world’s standards. But, in college, I came into my own (even if my tank top choices were questionable). And, for the first time, I loved the skin I was in.
Tag: Postpartum
The Ugly Years
Just before I graduated high school, I got this amazing idea: chop off all of your hair (think Mandy Moore c. 2003). Ashamedly, I did not have Locks of Love in mind. No, I was entirely selfish.
I wanted a new start.
You see, hair has always been my calling card. I have never dyed or treated my hair and somehow – by the blessing of God – I maintained golden locks for the first three decades of my life.
My mother’s experience, however, would foreshadow my own: blonde until babies. And, right on time, I gradually lost my sun-kissed signature hair in the years following childbirth.
But it was impossible for me to predict the other changes that were simultaneously emerging – the widening hips, the spider veins, and the wrinkles.
The ugly years, without my consent, had arrived.
The Last Eleven Pounds
When I stare into the mirror, I see an inflated version of myself. Eleven pounds – to be exact – have been added. At times, I struggle to recognize this latest reflection of myself. She looks tired.
As I write this, it is approximately 10:42 p.m., and my body wants to run. I have eaten calories that need to be burned. And yet, I am readying myself for bed. Sleep trumps fitness and any neurotic weight concerns that I may have.
The children will need my energy and, more importantly, an agreeable mood tomorrow.
Unlearning 