Tag: stretch marks

21 Day Body Love Challenge – Belly Laugh

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belly

I love my belly.

This is a relatively recent development. I would like it to be smaller, flatter, but I do not love it less because it is not.

My belly button has always been a point of pride, shaped like the entrance to a cave, it seems to mark the intersection where my belly stops and my waist begins. I have a whole belly, butt, hip combo area, as if I put on granny panties and just stuffed them full.

This area is soft but strong, it’s where I store my secrets and insecurities until I’m ready to look at them. It keeps me grounded no matter how many stories my mind makes up. It grows a little for support when I’m going through a transition, allowing me to maintain my emotional footing and mental grace. When I reach the other side, my body naturally discards this life preserver.

When I behave nutritionally my belly rewards me with less real estate, it flattens out a bit – at least when I’m lying on my back, but it will never be smooth. It has seen too much in its lifetime.

There are iridescent lightning bolts that indicate where my belly surrendered to the life growing within me, branding me as a member of the maternal tribe. Just above the entrance to the cave are two tiny lightning bolts that shot through moments before new life was released from my body, yielding to the last bit of pressure. I especially love these. There is a single thin line, a barely perceptible crease that runs horizontally from hip to hip where the base of my belly rested at its fullest. An indelible reminder of my capacity.

I have never had a completely flat belly, alas, my DNA chose another path. My mom calls hers a pooch. She has been thin as a rail most of my life but she still has this little pooch. Her mom’s shape more closely resembled my own and she too had “the pooch.” As a teenager on the drill team, or worse, the swim team, it was my shame and needed to be hidden behind towels or crossed arms. Even as an adult I would inhale deeply, sucking in my abdomen in an effort to minimize its existence. To this day I have to consciously relax the muscles of my mid-section when I exhale – holding in my stomach became as natural as breathing itself.

When I was very young my favorite place to be when I was sleepy or scared or sick, was laying with my head on my mom’s or grandma’s laps. They were soft and reassuring, nurturing. Now I have this gift that I currently share with four little furry friends and sometimes my husband. It’s a soft landing place in a world with so many sharp objects and hard edges.

I will never make it into Shape magazine because of my abs, unless it’s just a lot of “before” pictures. The oceans of the world will probably never see me in a bikini again, but protected by clothing and covered in puppies, and having housed a little human, it knows its worth. It’s priceless.

I love my belly.

“I want to be a big, fleshy, voluptuous woman with curves. I want a big bum, but I don’t have one.” – Cameron Diaz

 

21 Day Body Love Challenge

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I love my body. Everything about it. When was the last time you said, thought or heard another WOMAN say that about themselves? To be fair, self-loathing isn’t exclusively a female sport, but we certainly hold all the ribbons.

In recent months I have seen many responses to the model thin body. There are documentaries coming out and seeking funding that celebrate the female form, whatever shape that form has taken. There are rebuttals to perfection in blogs, rants on Twitter and even infomercials on the beauty of “regular” women.

The director/producer of the documentary on women’s bodies, seeking funding, went out on the streets and queried over 100 women in all shapes and sizes and when asked how they would describe their bodies the most common response was, “disgusting.”

This makes me very sad.

My body is flawed, much of it my own doing or not doing. I have scars, stretch marks, cellulite, wrinkles and sagging in new places every day. I have hated various parts of my body but that didn’t make things any easier. I have loved parts of my body to firmness and thinness, but that was fleeting when my love of Christmas cookies trumped my affection for thin thighs.

In part I think my argument with my body is not the shape so much as the knowledge that I am not doing all I could to improve my shape. I eat chocolate, drink wine and don’t move nearly as much as I plan. But still I have to reconcile myself with this physical form that houses the me that thinks, talks and sees things uniquely. So much emphasis is placed on being different, why has none of that been applied to the female form?

Now I find myself in a place of the compassionate observer, mostly.  There is still much I’d like to change about this meat suit gifted to me, but maybe I’m not supposed to. Perhaps this body, just like this, is here to teach me and others something. What if this body is the vehicle that will take me to the super-consciousness highway and where along the way I can pick up a few hitchhikers?

If I am truly God in disguise, then perhaps it is my mission to love the wrapping, love the cover of the book so that it can be opened and what’s inside can be read.

You are God in disguise or Divine consciousness in disguise or the Universe made manifest, or a dog in human clothing. I don’t care how you choose to look at it, what words you use, what belief system you have, you must just know that you are perfect and a reflection of divinity.

For the next 21 days I am going to explore this gift that has allowed me to travel, make a baby, snuggle my kitties and puppies, do yoga, dance my ass off, swim competitively and stumble and get back up. I am going to call out the Divine cells, one at a time until we are all on the same page. I will work with one piece of the puzzle at a time starting with my foundation – my feet, and ending with my salvation – my heart.

Care to join me?