The life of a woman’s body is incredible.
I get older. My body changes. It has changed so much through every season of its life. It has grown four children perfectly every time, has healed every time, and continues to nourish me through sickness and disease.
My body, although it is tired at times, sick at times, and aging, it sustains me. It holds up to my physically demanding life, day in and day out. My body feels the stress I put on it and weakens. It feels when there is good care given to it and thrives. It isn’t the body I see on billboards or magazine covers. It isn’t the body I see, without blemish or imperfection, I see on the commercials.
And yet, my body is perfect. I am my body. I am the outcome of what my body has experienced, hurt, felt, nourished, cared for, and lived in for thirty years. It is all mine.
I wish I could remember this every time I look in the mirror and wish something was different with my body. Or the times I feel like my body isn’t enough. Or the times I see people around me that fit the mold for flawlessness. I live in an age when a woman and her body represent only sensuality. No nurturing, mothering, dignity, real beauty, knowledge, or wisdom. Only a body for the sake of a body.
I am my body. And my body is more than something to be closely examined to meet some unobtainable goal. My body is more than something to slather lipstick on and show as much skin as possible. My body is more than something that is exposed at every corner and every news stand in every place around the world.
My life is physically reflected in every inch of my body, from stretch marks on my hips, to wrinkles on my face, to strength in my arms.
I am my body.
Let’s talk: What can you see in your perfect body?
How has life literally shaped it?
How do you combat the world’s obsession with your body?