The Body that Grew Me

On the way home from the beach a few weekends ago, I scrolled through literally hundreds of cheesy posed pictures of myself standing in the ocean, smiling at the camera, holding onto my kids’ hands while they tried to run away from me (because who even has time for pictures when there are waves to play in?!?) A friend of mine had asked me to participate in a body-positive challenge on Instagram where you post a picture of yourself in a bathing suit. Without hesitation I accepted her invitation, because after all, I am all about supporting a body-positive mindset and promoting self-love. I asked my husband to get a few shots of me and the kids in the water for me to share in my feed, then honestly forgot about the pictures until the long ride home. Being the natural trained #instahusband that he is, he held down the continuous shutter so I had plenty hundreds of shots to choose from- bless!

I scrolled through them, turning my nose up at each and every one, but stopped my scroll on this low quality, un-posed snapshot and laughed. I liked it much better than any of the few where we were actually in the frame and looking at the camera. It evoked a sweet memory of the game of “body slam” we were playing with the crashing waves, and made me smile.

But before I knew it, the sweet nostalgia began dissolving, rudely interrupted by extremely negative self-talk about what I looked like in the bathing suit. I’ll spare you the details of the inner conversation, but let’s just say I deleted every single picture from our little photo shoot and stuffed my phone deep into my purse, angry with it for daring to capture proof of my very imperfect body.

I turned my focus to the backseat, glimpsing at my sweet babies sleeping the weekend off and immediately felt better. Then I thought back to a moment of people-watching earlier in the weekend. Sitting on a boogie board at the cusp of where the water met the land, I watched the people around me from behind my dark glasses- specifically focused on observing the women surrounding me. All shapes, all sizes, all ages, all different kinds of bathing suits, all different stories. I remembered thinking how beautiful they each were- just regular women, some moms like me, some not, enjoying a hot day at the beach with their loved ones. They played with their children, walked their dogs, laid out, allowing the sun to kiss their skin, drank cold beverages from their tumblers, laughed with their friends, and crinkled their toes into the sand. I watched them in awe and wondered if any of them were in their head about their bodies. If they were, I didn’t see it. I glanced down at my own imperfect body, for once not covered up by shorts, not hiding behind a towel, and felt proud to be among them- just a regular woman and mom, having some fun at her favorite place with the people she loves.

The memory gently washed away the negativity I had felt about the pictures of myself. I leaned over my seat belt to dig around my purse for my phone and recovered this one photo from the deleted bunch. When I examined it for the second time, I saw something different.

I saw a busy little boy in the background, aimed and ready to attack the oncoming wave, and a little girl scrunching her face up to protect her eyes from the salty water she was getting ready to dive into. I saw a mama having fun with them, her worries put on hold for those precious moments. I saw a natural, genuine smile on that mama’s face, likely prompted by the photographer who loves her very much, making her laugh with his Austin Powers “Yeah baby, yeah” impersonation.

Through this lens, I didn’t see the kissing thighs, or the bulging tummy, or the love handles on my body. I saw a body that is mine. A body that has held me through trauma, gifted me two pregnancies, healed from two c-sections, and suffered through, then overcame years and years of eating disorders. I saw legs that have run races, lifted heavy weights, and maneuvered through more burpees than they ever wanted to. I saw a soft tummy that has been the landing place for little heads wrapped up in warm hugs. I saw sturdy shoulders that have beared a lifetime of worries and anxieties, and arms that are now strong enough to carry those worries in a hand-off to God.

This imperfect and beautiful body is mine. It has shown up for me every.single.day of my life. I may have spent way too many years shaming and shying away from this body, but I am making it my life’s work to put an end to that. This is the body that grew me and I am forever grateful for it.

To my fellow strong and beautiful females reading this, be proud of the body that grew you. We are not defined by it’s shape or size, but we are defined by the lifetime it has endured and gifted us.

If you like what you read here, tag me @susietriggtucker and hashtag #thebodythatgrew me this summer on your posts!

If you need some tips on changing your inner conversation from negative to positive, click here to read 5 Ways to Change Your Inner Conversation.

XO,

Susie