"I know, but
there's not," I said slowly, and as gently as I could.
"I know,"
she replied. But it LOOKS like there is," she said insistently.
"Yeah," I
sighed.
I thought about the
Pilates classes, the calorie-restricting diets, the “miracle wraps,” the
practice of Uddiyana Bhanda, my Spanx, the “Slim & Sassy” essential oil,
the transverse abdominal exercises, my drawer full of compression tops, my new
and improved postural awareness.
"I've tried a
lot of things to make it better, but it still is that way."
Luckily, my tiny yoga
partner seemed satisfied with this, and as we shifted into plank pose, she
changed the subject.
I didn't lose the
conversation quite so easily, though.
The truth is, I
understand what my little friend is saying. I don't like it, but I get it. I
know that I look at least a little
pregnant all the time. I've got what is termed a "mummy tummy," a
stomach area that shows the effects of four pregnancies in six years and a
digestive disorder that went undiagnosed for a long, long time. (Technically,
it is called a diastis recti and you
can learn great stuff about it here at my friend Christina’s blog).
It's been a while
since I've been asked by an adult how far along I was (the Lord has shown me
mercy). But Daisy doesn't quite understand the social faux pas it is to tell
someone it looks like she has a baby in her belly when she doesn’t. She was
just being honest.
I struggle with our
culture’s expectations of what our womanly bodies should look like, despite age
and childbearing. On the one hand, I think we ought to be able to grow older
gracefully and allow our bodies to be made different by the incredible process
of pregnancy and birth (we’ve made PEOPLE in there, for heaven’s sake!). On the
other hand, I want to feel beautiful. I want to feel like other people think
I’m at least moderately attractive, if not beautiful.
I struggle because I
think that I am being judged because of my tummy. I think that people look at
me and think that I must not eat right or work out or care enough. I think they
think I lack self-discipline. I think they think I must be lazy.
There’s a
compassionate voice inside my head, too. I tell me that I eat well, not rigidly
(which is important for someone in life-long recovery from anorexia), I tell me
to remember that I have been a vegetarian for more than 15 years (resisting
bacon that long requires some kind of self-discipline, right?), that I am a
yoga teacher and I highly value movement (but I’m not a gym rat, and that’s
ok).
I remind myself that
what I want most is to be a woman whose beauty comes from the inside. I want to
be someone who is most appealing because of the light of Jesus radiating from
her. I want to be a woman who is beautiful because of her gentle and tranquil
spirit (1 Peter 3:4). I tell myself that if I had the flat, sleek stomach of a
teen, it would not make me a kinder, wiser, more loving or prayerful person.
I think about my daughters
and the way I want them to feel about their bodies. I want them to know that
their bodies are the holy temples of God’s Spirit. I want them to know that
beauty comes in a variety of shapes and sizes and that growing older should not
bring shame. I want them to know (if they should choose) the miracle it is for
your body to be home to a child as God knits him or her together (Psalm
139:13), and that there should be no remorse for your body carrying the
evidence of such miracles.
I
wonder if this temptation to glorify and vilify our own bodies is part of what
John had in mind when he wrote this:
Do not love the world or anything in
the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in them.
For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of
the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world.
The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will
of God lives forever. 1 John 2:15-17.
Let’s break down the Greek a bit. Lust
can be translated “desire,
craving, longing,” and flesh is “the soft substance of the living body, which
covers the bones and is permeated with blood.” In this sense, it seems possible that we can
fall into a sinful pattern with our own
bodies to desire, crave, long for them to be something different than what
they are. We look at other people’s physical forms and wish we looked more like
they do.
And pride…here’s one of the Greek definitions of this word: “an impious and empty presumption which trusts in the stability of earthly things.” When we trust other people’s opinions of our physical forms more than we trust what God says is true about us, we are trusting the stability of earthly things, friends.
When we cultivate the things that last, we honor God with our bodies. When we bow to cultural pressure to look or be a certain way, we serve a world that is passing away, we serve a world that will never accept us as enough, a world that will always ask for more, and will condemn and shame us even as it puffs us up with worthless pride.
And
so, I thank God for my conversation with Daisy. I thank God for this belly that
can remind me that I serve Him and not the world, if I let it. I thank Him that
my true worth is not found in the shape of my tummy, but in the shape of my
heart, a heart bent towards Him and the Kingdom of Love.
What about you? Do you have a part of your body that
keeps you from feeling beautiful? What do you think is truly beautiful about
you, beyond the physical imperfections? Does your perspective shift when thinking about your body as way to share the love of God with the world around you?
**submitted as part of the SheLoves Magazine August synchroblog
An amen from me over here!
ReplyDeleteThank you for linking up, Sarah! O, dear. I definitely have the Mummy tummy going on and I've had several well-meaning adults ask me about pregnancy. Thankfully, also, not too recently. But still ...
Your post and Bethany's post today remind me why it's so important that we do this right. For our daughters and the generations that follow. And for us, mind you, so we can breathe more of the Beautiful.
Good bless you for this!! <3
ReplyDeleteAccording to stories told about me by my mother, I was that five year old. I stood close, looking up at my babysitter and said "My, you're fat." I love your last picture and if that's you, you really look pretty good.
ReplyDeleteI struggle with this constantly, especially when my own daughter asks if there's a baby in my belly. I stifle my own breath to hold that belly in tighter -- there's a metaphor in that one for sure. I love how very beautiful you are -- every last bit of you -- and how you press me ever so gently to see the beauty in myself.
ReplyDeleteI am 9 weeks post-partum and my five year old daughter has been thinking it's hilarious that I still look pregnant. "Michael is out but your tummy is still big!" I just keep cringing and fake-laughing. This is good stuff, though, thank you. :)
ReplyDelete