“Can you believe she had a baby three months ago?”
The first time I heard this “compliment,” I didn’t know how to take it. I wasn’t back at my pre-pregnancy weight. I hadn’t really figured out when to squeeze in workouts with a full-time job and an infant. Besides, when I got off work at 5, I was ready to pick up my little girl and cuddle with her until bedtime, not drop her off again so that I could work out. And once she fell asleep, there was no guarantee on how many hours she would sleep, so I prioritized sleep over exercise.
“What are you doing? You look amazing,” another person told me.
Walking around Target one day someone stopped me and asked how old my little girl was.
“She’ll be four months next week.”
“Stop it! There’s no way you had a baby four months ago! You look fantastic.”
Now it was starting to get to my head. I mean, can you blame me? I was a new mom that was trying to juggle all the challenges of having a tiny human in the home, plus a full-time job, managing a home, and maintaining a healthy marriage. Finally, a pat on the back! “I was finally doing something right… even if I wasn’t doing anything at all,” I thought.
Fast forward to my second pregnancy. I gained a bit more than 27 pounds this go around. I saw my nose widen and my face swell, not to mention, my ankles, feet, hands… everything! I wasn’t “all belly” this time. I gave birth to my youngest daughter and lost two pounds. Despite having an eight-pound baby girl, I had taken on some water weight and looked more pregnant after I gave birth than I did before.
A few days later, the weight came off and I immediately started searching through my closet to see what I could fit. Four dresses fit. None of my tops fit like they used to. I’m not even going to talk about my jeans. Getting dressed everyday became an emotional feat.
I enrolled at a gym and was “gifted” a free body assessment.
“What are your goals?”
“I want to get back down to my pre-pregnancy weight.”
“Well that may never happen,” the trainer quickly responded.
“Well, you probably won’t be my trainer after this little assessment,” I thought to myself.
I didn’t realize it, but my weight had become an obsession. I started comparing myself to other new moms in my circle that were already in their skinny jeans or posing in swimsuits on their vacations just a few weeks after giving birth.
My husband called me out when he noticed I was skipping meals.
“You’re not eating.”
“Yes I am. See?” I’d take a few bites of my dinner to appease him, but I was genuinely not hungry. I would drink coffee for breakfast. Grab a quick smoothie or snack for lunch and be too busy feeding the girls to eat dinner. I weighed myself at least once a day. I only realize all of this in hindsight. In the moment, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I was going throughout my day thinking everything was normal, but all along, I had allowed what I thought about myself to affect my actions.
It didn’t really hit me until I heard it from my 4-year-old. It was a typical morning, I was getting ready for my day, and she was exploring the wonders of my bathroom cabinet. I looked over as she stepped on the scale. As soon as the numbers settled she jumped off the scale with excitement and said, “Yes! A 3 and a 8!” Then she paused. “Mommy, is that a good number?”
“A good number.” This was nothing I had ever said to her or to anyone, yet somehow she had figured out that the number on the scale had meaning. Is this the example I was setting for my daughters? Was I in search of a certain number to feel like I was good enough? Had I watered down my worth to the three digits on the scale? That’s not what I wanted for my girls. That’s not what I wanted for myself.
I share this with you, because I know I’m not the only one that has found validation in the numbers on the scale. I’m not the only one that has compared my waistline to moms who had babies some months after me. I’m not the only one that has struggled with insecurity and self-worth as my body recovered from giving birth to a child. I’m not the only one that has avoided pool parties or swimming on vacation because I wasn’t confident in a swimsuit. I think there are a lot of women who may not struggle with an eating disorder, but they do allow what they see in the mirror and how they feel about themselves dictate other areas of their lives.
Let me pause and say there is nothing wrong with working out and eating healthy or even desiring to look good in an outfit or aiming to lose a certain amount of weight. The problem is when we become obsessed, when a certain number on the scale becomes the ultimate goal and we adopt unhealthy habits to attain that goal. It becomes unhealthy when we decided that we are inadequate until can fit in those jeans, garner a certain amount of compliments and see that magic number.
I challenge you to look and the mirror and fall in love with everything about you, from the inside out! That was what I had to do. I started reminding myself that I was beautiful. I talked to my friends and my husband and told them what I had been feeling. I bought a few outfits that I felt good in, and I only spoke life about myself. “Now these jeans look way better than the ones you have sitting in your closet. And you look so good!” (Yep, I said that out loud in an Ann Taylor Loft fitting room. This is me.) It wasn’t vanity; it was simply reminding myself that I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14). I am God’s masterpiece (Ephesians 2:10). And it was those steps that made all the difference.