Being Amazed by My Not-So-Perfect Body

“Now, I wonder how I could attach the word hate to anything that conceived and grew my daughter. My body simply amazes me.”

Photo by Alicia Petresc

God knew something I didn’t that night. And as it turns out, my body did, too. Despite my mind’s momentary oblivion, it’s a night—a moment, really—that I’ll always remember as the time I fell in love with my body again. The word “twinkle” has never felt more synonymous with “moment” for me than here—a short, bright flicker, easy to miss in the blink of an eye, but thankfully, not always dependent on eyesight. Lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, I flipped my pillow to the cold side one last time and rolled over. My hand fell over a bare spot on my lower abdomen where my nightshirt rode up. I breathed deeply to relax and, as I exhaled, these words twinkled across my fading consciousness: ”It’s okay, you have a safe space now.”

Fast forward to nearly nine months later where I sit now, drinking a mug of Mother’s Milk tea, staring at the Christmas lights draped haphazardly over our fireplace mantel, with my hand in the same spot on my lower abdomen where I know a C-section scar will soon exist. Through my contact lens-less vision, I focus on three little lightbulbs in particular that I label mind, body, and spirit. In my imagination, the dimmest of the three represents the body, and the dark green cord connecting them is God.  

I think back to those twinkling words (”You have a safe space now”) and understand that God spoke them to me. They are like those three little lightbulbs, giving that slightly duller bulb that represented my body a new brilliance., The whole string of lights together, representing my mind, body and spirit, would soon be illuminated brightly through their connection to my soon-to-be born baby daughter, Teagan Grace.  

PREPARING FOR CHANGE: MIND, BODY, AND SPIRIT

Obviously, I’m not describing any sort of immaculate conception here. My husband and I had recently crossed into not-trying-not-to have kids territory. What did and still does feel perfect is the way God primed my not-so-perfect mind, body, and spirit for the pregnancy I always assumed I’d struggle to achieve. He also shined light through what felt like a fleeting but important moment of consciousness.

I thought I might find pregnancy difficult, particularly getting pregnant, due to the fact that I had a somewhat difficult and complicated view of my body. In a nutshell, I had often treated it poorly, exposed it to toxic relationships, or battled negative thoughts about it.  Ironically, I could talk anyone’s ear off about self-love as it relates to our bodies and cite numerous books I’d read on the subject. I might even quote 1 Corinthians 6:19-20: “Don’t you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who lives in you and was given to you by God?”  Unfortunately, my obsession with loving my body wasn’t grounded in self-love, but rather a compulsion for perfection. I only thought of my body as a good thing when I achieved perfection. 

So many of us use the term “love-hate” to describe our relationship with our bodies. Before the last nine months, I am not sure I could attach the word love (not in the true, unconditional sense at least) to what I felt toward my body. Now, I wonder how I could attach the word hate to anything that conceived and grew my daughter. My body simply amazes me.

SEEING MY BODY AND MYSELF AS GOD SEES THEM

When I look at Teagan, whose name means both ‘beautiful’ and ‘little poet,’ I’ll see just that: beauty and poetry; a baby girl whom God crafted to embody a narrative that will include her journey to and through womanhood. Like many of us, her story may include moments or phases where she overworks, undernourishes, intoxicates, all out ignores, or worst yet, hates her body. But God won’t condemn her for those dark times; he’ll love and celebrate her in spite of them because they're all part of the poetry. They’re what allow for future twinkles.  But I hope and pray, for Teagan and for all of us, that sooner rather than later and more often than not, our stories are filled with moments where we see and love our bodies as God does: as safe, beautiful, spaces capable (for some) of not only bearing babies, but for all of us: executing ideas, knocking down boundaries, undergoing adventures, and experiencing love -- not only from and for others, but from and for ourselves.          

My C-section scar will be my personal reminder that, flawed as my body is, it is powerful, beautiful, durable, dependable and fruitful. And imperfection aside, all of these things make it pretty impossible not to love.