How Do I Look?

I sat around a table with a group of moms today, drinking coffee, swapping stories of our children's antics, sharing struggles of sleep deprivation, commiserating and laughing in our shared experience of motherhood. It's these gatherings that help keep me sane. They remind me that, although there are many days that I feel alone in this season of diaper changes, sleepless nights, and temper tantrums, that really, I am part of a sisterhood. A sisterhood of women who, day in and day out, give themselves to the daunting task of raising little people to become all that they were created to be.

All of us moms are different. We come from different backgrounds, have different talents, different passions. Some of us had our children young, others later in life. But I think we all struggle with the same questions. Now that I'm a mom, who am I? Where do I find my worth? Am I good enough?

There are so many changes that take place once we have children. Suddenly, our lives feel like they are not our own anymore. I look back at my life before children and I had so much time. So many plans.  So much energy! Where did it all go?!

They say when you are pregnant that your body is not your own for nine months. That's true, but it doesn't tell the whole story. Any mom that has breastfed for any amount of time will tell you that as long as you are nursing an infant, your body really isn't yours during that time either. And ask any mom who, despite sheer exhaustion, has had to get up with a child multiple times in the middle of the night because they are ill, or thirsty, or their blankets just aren't right, and she will tell you that her body really doesn't feel like hers then either.

And for many of us, after having our babies, all it takes is one look in the mirror to remind us that our bodies no longer feel like they belong to us. In fact, sometimes, looking in the mirror, it feels like I am looking at someone else.

When did these circles under my eyes get so dark?

Will I ever get rid of these love handles?

When did my neck get so saggy?

I'll never see my abs again. 

I remember shortly after having my first baby I signed up to run a 5k. I thought it would be the perfect way to motivate myself to lose the rest of the baby weight that I had put on during my pregnancy. I signed up and then posted on Facebook, "I just signed up for a 5k! Can't wait to get my pre-baby body back!" I remember clearly that within a few minutes a mom friend had commented on my post. She said, "I don't want to discourage you, but you don't get back your pre-baby body. Even when you lose the weight, your body will still be changed forever. You've got to learn to love your body for what it is now." Almost immediately other moms chimed in, agreeing with her. I felt a wave of emotions come over me. I felt embarrassed, like maybe I had said something stupid. I felt determined to prove them wrong. I wondered if they were just making excuses for the way their bodies looked. I deleted the whole post. And pretended like it never happened.

But here I am four years later. I've since had another child and gone through the weight gain and the weight loss again. And I've discovered something in the process.

They were right.

My son, even in the womb, was determined to have things his way. Despite my, and the doctors, best efforts, he presented in the breech position on the day that he was born. Because of that, he had to be delivered by c-section.

I remember after the surgery the doctor told me to look at my incision. He said I needed to know what it looked like so that if it became infected I would know the difference.

I refused to look at it. I made my husband look instead. I literally could not bring myself to look down at my scar. A scar that just the day before hadn't been there. A scar that would now be there forever.

I read stories of moms who said they wore their c-section scar like a badge of honor. It showed that they had brought forth life from their own bodies.

I didn't feel that way.

I resented my scar. I resented that no amount of working out, or eating right, or plastic surgery would ever get rid of that jagged red line just below my belly button.

For me, the scar represented the fact that my body was permanently changed. I was no longer who I used to be. The scar was a physical reminder that I would never be that person again.

Sitting around the table with the moms today, the topic of plastic surgery popped up. There's something called the "mom makeover," that promises to give you back your pre-baby body. Tummy tuck, breast lift, liposuction.  All done to give you back the body that you gave up when you had children.

Listening to the moms talk about what they would change if they could, I realized I'm not the only one who struggles with who I used to be and who I am now.

Moms, we all have those scars.

I don't want to get on a soapbox, or make any other mom feel judged in any way. But I also want to be honest. Sitting there, listening to the moms talk, I felt an incredible sadness come over me. Sadness that we as moms spend so much time hating parts of ourselves.

I am no different than these women. I hate my muffin top. I hate that I am saggy in places I never used to be. I don't like how I look in a bathing suit.

But as I looked around the table at these kind, compassionate, selfless, beautiful women, I'm distressed that we as moms feel like we have to be something different. I can't help but think that there is something deeper happening here, that there are lies we're believing.  Lies that tell us we aren't good enough. Aren't beautiful anymore. That if we can somehow turn back the clock on our bodies that we will regain something inside of us that tends to get lost in motherhood.

But I don't think we can turn back the clock.

We're different now.  Just like my c-section scar, we're different in ways that no surgery will ever change back.

The magazines that tout the latest celebrity who gave birth three hours ago and already has her pre-baby body back only make the lies louder. The weight loss spokespeople who say they feel younger than ever before feed into the frenzy. The plastic surgeons who promise to turn back time make it seem like the answers are just an operation away.

But here's the thing. No matter what we do to ourselves to change our physical appearance, one day we're going to have to look down at that scar. One day we're going to have to wrestle with the internal questions that right now our external body distracts us from.

Questions like:
Am I beautiful?
Am I good enough?
Am I all that I was meant to be?
Am I worthy?

There is a difficult truth that I personally don't like to accept: my body is temporary. It is not meant to last forever.

What does that mean?

It means that one day, no matter what I do, I am going to have wrinkles. All my parts are going to sag. My hair will turn gray. My body will get weaker. My memory won't be as sharp.

And unless I start to remind myself of the Truth, amidst all the lies that are so easy to believe, I will still be asking those same questions.

What is the Truth?

For that I look to God. The author and perfecter of my soul.


For we know that when this earthly tent we live in is taken down (that is, when we die and leave this earthly body), we will have a house in heaven, an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands. 2 Corinthians 5:1

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:14

 But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
    but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Psalm 31:30


These verses remind me of who I am. Who God created me to be.

I am so much more than my outward appearance.

I can only imagine what I would think if one day I overheard my daughter talking to herself in the mirror, saying the things that I say to myself in my head almost daily. What if I heard her saying she hates her thighs, wishes she had a flatter stomach, hates the roundness of her face?

My heart would break. Because she is mine, and she is beautiful.

I imagine my Heavenly Father feels that way when he hears me too.

I'm not here to judge anyone for any surgery or anything else they've done for or to their body. Plastic surgery is a completely personal decision and what I am saying is not a stand against it. If you've had it done, you're probably the one of whom I am jealous of your perky boobs.

But what I am saying is, moms, you are beautiful. Yes, your body is different than it used to be. Mine is too. It's not as firm, as thin, as toned as it used to be. I don't look like I used to.

But we're forgetting something. We aren't those people on the inside anymore either.

That skinny, toned and tan person didn't know the feeling of holding a baby close, breathing in that sweetness that only a baby's breath has. That person didn't know the euphoria that comes with five hours of sleep in a row. That person didn't know what it was like to give away the last piece of chocolate cake to the chubby cheeked child begging for just one more bite. That person didn't know what it felt like to hear a tiny voice singing "Mama Mama, Mama" lovingly in their crib. That person didn't know the depth of love that is possible for one person to have for another.

We aren't who we used to be. We're different now. Our bodies will continue to betray us as time marches on. But it's our souls that matter. Our souls that have learned the real meaning of sacrifice, patience, and love. That's what's going to last.

Moms, you are beautiful. You have great worth. You are deeply loved. We need to remind ourselves and each other of this, to drown out the other voices that tell us otherwise.

It's only been in the last year or so that I've started to look down at my scar without wincing. Often my daughter notices it when I'm getting dressed in the morning, and she'll ask, "Mommy, what's that red line?" I tell her, "that's where Joshua came out." She'll ask me, "Does it hurt?"

Truthfully, yes, sometimes it hurts. It hurts to know I'll never have that same body that I used to have. Sometimes it hurts to put aside my old self to give my new self to my children.

 But more lately, as I've started to remind myself of God's truths, I can tell her honestly, "No, it doesn't hurt. It's part of being a mommy."

I'm not the same person I used to be. I'll never be that person again. But I'm getting used to this new body. This body that knows love like it never did before. And truthfully, even if I could turn back the clock, I'd do the same way all over again.