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2017: we grew.
It was the first time I ever shared my true postpartum with the world. Never had I ever been so excited to share a photo.
My son asked me about the marks on my belly, questioning the changes. This inspired me to post about my truth. I was fighting to accept my “new normal” and, gosh, did this open the floodgates.
2018: we grew.
One year postpartum my body looked and felt different in so many ways. I spent a year sharing all of my truths and insecurities—almost like an addiction. The more I shared, the more peace I felt. The more hearts I reached, the more my own heart filled. I found my purpose in this space. I didn’t cringe when my babies poked and prodded at my belly—I laughed along with them.
2019: we glow.
Two years postpartum. My body is much the same as it was in 2018. The marks, the skin, the remnants of my pregnancy are still with me. While my body is similar—my mind is what’s really made a difference. No longer do I need someone else’s permission to accept my body. To love my body. To respect my body.
I’ve made a promise to myself. A promise to my children. I will never stand in front of the mirror, draped in shame, crying tears over a body that carried three babies to term. I will show them what it means to accept, love, and respect our bodies. I will show them that their value extends far beyond that glimpse in the mirror. I will show them that there are so many reasons to appreciate their bodies, beyond how they may look.
I will show them true worth.