It is not okay to comment on someone else’s body.

We are so much more than bodies walking around this planet.

If I am skinnier will that make me more valid?

If I am thinner will that make me more valuable?

If I am slim will that make me pretty? More lady-like? More desirable?

If I am more fit does that make me more trustworthy?

Today, I had extra miracle time to get myself ready. Not just ready (deodorant, brushed teeth) but ready-ready. I happily curled my hair and did a little extra on my eyes, and felt lovely. I put on a new dress that fits me, and even wore shapewear underneath to make my jiggly middle lesser.

I’ve had two babies in two years. They’re 15 months apart.

We have a gym membership. When I go to the gym, I also have my children with me. When they are sick, we don’t go to the gym, because I don’t want to put them in childcare.

We have been sick almost every single week since Thanksgiving.

I am tired.

I feel joy when I actually get to have a morning coffee or when my little boy goes down for a nap without a fight.

I feel a huge victory when I make it to the other side of the kids’ bedtime and I don’t feel like crying from being body-slammed by all the day required of me.

I feel a huge victory when I take a deep breath of outside air — sometimes those don’t come easily.

Not victim-minded, but wow, this-is-HARD-WORK-minded.

Hard work that doesn’t often go seen, or complimented, or encouraged, or taught on.

Hard work that can go stretches of hours without even the shortest quiet break.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Your belly is big.”

I thought I looked at the very least put together.

Let’s try, “You look beautiful!”

Let’s try, “You’re doing amazing.”

And hey, if you don’t think it, you could try not saying anything and move on.

I know my worth but don’t we all assume things based on appearance?

I know my beauty but doesn’t it taste like honey when someone notices your hard work and tells you you look beautiful?

I know how I eat. I value fresh, whole, in-season, local, and colorful. I want my kids to know where their food comes from, what a potato looks like when it is pulled out of the earth, what mommy cooking looks like, and I want them to help. I take the extra time and work to create healthful meals, most meals of the week, for myself and 3 other mouths. I hate feeling like I have to clarify that because of how I look.

I value movement in my own body, in the gym and in the fresh outside air. Right now it mostly looks like endless squats and presses to pick up/play with/talk to/help small humans, and to clean up the 100th mess of the day. It looks like walking to and from the kitchen table 50 times every meal, never sitting long enough to eat my own meal, because as it turns out, as much as you don’t want to be that kind of mom, at some point, however briefly, you’ll probably be one. It’s bending low to gather the wet laundry, reaching high to put it in to dry, a few times a day. The cardio and strength of putting two kids into car seats and back out, into strollers and back out. Cleaning cardio. Cooking cardio. The 30-something and 20-something pound picking-up and holding strength training.

Yes, I know my belly has an ocean of softness, and it’s never been this big.

As one who thought she may never get to have biological children, and prayed and anguished in the waiting, I celebrate what my body built, and is still capable of yet again. Yes, more ocean for this joy.

Yes, I know I have giant bags under my eyes and my skin has looked more youthful.

Babies need me all hours.

Hard-working husbands need home-cooked meals, at least some of the days of the week.

All members of the family need me. We need clean clothes and a (mostly) clean home.

Listen, I’m trying to figure this new life out.

Next time, when you see someone’s body and think a thought, keep it a thought, and examine what it means.

Look to their eyes, see them in their context, and wonder about their home life.

Wonder what makes them laugh, or feel loved.

Imagine that they likely have circumstances you don’t know, that might inform what you see.

Let’s change our body language.

If I’m blessed with an opportunity to be old and gray I want to look back on this time and think,

Yes, YOU LIVED IT.

You were all in it. You did it. You were stunning.

You sucked all the marrow out of life.

You laughed big, wide-open-mouthed laughs and showed up, all the pounds of you, without hiding.

Joy doesn’t discriminate based on attractiveness. It lands on those who are looking for it with open arms.

I’d want to say, in my grandma-old-age,

You dared to be and to love well, vulnerable as loving can be sometimes.

You took good care of yourself, body, soul, and spirit. Not “good care” that looks like a very certain thing. But good like you actually liked and loved yourself.

So, I stand.

I do another day bravely.

I accept my body for all she looks like and I love her.

All of her.

She does hard work.

I’m changing my body language.

-Sam

P.S. Want some more body image goodness? Check out On Being the Heaviest I’ve Ever Been and Some Thoughts on Aging and I’ve Never Felt More Beautiful

Body Language

We are so much more than bodies walking around this planet.