This body has carried me through 42 years. This body has climbed mountains, ran miles, and finished so many workouts the count was lost decades ago. It boxes, bikes, snowboards, wakeboards, dances and cheers. This body does yard work, shovels snow, plays sports, and massages. This body has seen sickness and health, had an unimaginable amount of diagnoses, and trauma. This body has seen eating disorders, starvation, over eating, and neglect. It has been been hated, ignored, and overly criticized. It has walked beside cancer in fear and in faith, it has felt pain, shock, and deep despair. This body has bore two beautiful babies, carried and nurtured, loved and cherished. This body has laughed and cried, felt loss and grief.
This body is mine and is the vessel I was given to live this life. Now why, on earth, should I not love it and be forever grateful? Why is this, for some reason, so terribly hard? Why can’t I give it the love and tenderness it so clearly deserves? As I hold my boys at night, and snuggle them into their beds, I often tell stories of when they were born and how I immediately fell so deeply in love with every sweet part of them. I try to convey to them how loved they are and how I made them in my tummy with purpose. I want them to know that they are perfectly how I wished they would be. Not because of how they look or for their good behaviour, but just simply because they are them. Perfectly imperfect is enough.
I do not expect my children to be perfect and to look perfect to earn my love, I just love them. Now why can’t it just be that simple with self love? The more I analyze this question, the more I come to believe that we all deserve to give ourselves more grace and to remember that our mothers feel the same way about us. To our mothers, we have always been enough. that alone, brings me such comfort.
A simple reminder, that like my boys, I too, am loved entirely as I am. I am my mothers daughter, and that is enough.