This is the most I have ever weighed in my life. The number when I step on a scale is a little higher than when I was 40-weeks pregnant.

So many feelings come over me whenever I see myself in pictures. I find my eyes going straight for the lumpy, dimpled skin that can be seen on my body. I’m able to see them on my stomach. I’m able to see it on my hips. I’m able to see the lumpy, dimpled skin on my thighs. The list goes on and on.

There have been periods of time when I would avoid being in front of a camera, altogether. There’s always been a complicated relationship with my body.

RELATED: Loving My Body is a Struggle

This body has been through a lot, and it’s the only one I’ll ever get. I don’t want to spend the time I have in my body hating it. I want to love it and that can be done in so many ways.

Showing love to my body won’t always make sense to someone else. My journey with this body doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else. No one who has walked this earth has spent as much time with this body as me. I will always be the one who will hold that record.

I know the experiences my body has gone through. This may be the most I have ever weighed in my life, but this is also the healthiest I’ve ever been as a whole. I’ve been afraid to post a picture like this because people will always have their opinions.

RELATED: I Want a Body That Tells the Truth

Our skin is important but it’s not the most meaningful thing about us—our hearts are. I’m learning how to love this body better and become more comfortable in my skin.

Let’s not spend the time we have hating our skin. Let’s not spend the time we have hating each other’s skin. The journey you have with your body doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else but you. The most beautiful thing about you is simply you.

Originally published on the author’s Instagram page

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Estephanie Phelps

I am mama to a sweet and wild boy. Being a mom is hard enough without all the expectations. We all have our own stories. Being a mom is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Maybe if I share my good, bad, and the ugly I can help at least one person. That would be good enough for me.

My Body After Baby Will Be Perfectly Imperfect

In: Faith, Motherhood
My Body After Baby Will Be Perfectly Imperfect www.herviewfromhome.com

  I walked in and saw them. In every shape and color imaginable, they stood and I stared and longed. Then, I looked down and saw a bump peeking through my shirt. In an instant I was reminded that though I wanted to wear one of those cute suits, I’d be giving birth in June. And for the rest of my summer, I’d be covering up, nursing, hot, uncomfortable, and ashamed of my stretch marks and cellulite. I stood there ashamed that at 27, I’ve already started the mom suit collection. Ashamed that I was even ashamed of such a...

Keep Reading

Thanking My Body for a Ten Minute Mile

In: Health, Kids, Mental Health, Motherhood
Thanking My Body for a Ten Minute Mile www.herviewfromhome.com

I took a run this weekend with my husband. First time I’ve run with someone in years. When he asked if I could keep a 10:00 mile pace, I nearly laughed out loud. The former cross country runner in me piped up: “Ten minute miles? I think I can handle that.” What’s that saying about pride coming before the fall? Yeah. In this case, pride comes before the gasping-for-breath-and-thinking-you’re-going-to-die. My burning lungs and legs told a story of glory running days gone by. Somehow, I kept up with him, but only with the benefit of his coaching, one badass playlist,...

Keep Reading

Why I Wouldn’t Change My Imperfect Mom Body

In: Mental Health, Motherhood
Why I Wouldn’t Change My Imperfect Mom Body www.herviewfromhome.com

  I woke up to the soft cries of a hungry baby next to me with the pungent smell of stomach virus and morning breath permeating from my pores. I could hardly see straight and felt like I could have used a padded room as I carried my almost six-month-old down the hall to the playroom where my little family convenes Saturday mornings for bottles and diaper changes. My two-year-old was drinking her morning bottle on the couch cradled into my husband’s chest. As I walked past them, I saw his lips muttering something inaudible but I didn’t even care...

Keep Reading