Until
this past October, I always wanted my stomach to be smaller. My physical self-awareness
has been characterized by the balance between Skinny and Fat, Acceptable or
Not, Small or Big.
As
a first-grader, lining up next to other girls, I took note of the way their
bodies and my body fit into our uniform skirts. Some girls seemed barely able
to keep their skirts up, they were so lithe and slender; others, whose shirts
bagged a bit around the waistband, seemed to need some extra room. My belly
wasn’t the biggest, nor was it the smallest, but I noticed that, depending on
how I stood or sat or sucked in, I could fall on either side of the divide.
Looking
back, I see a happy, healthy little girl whose eyes were so bright, no one was
looking at her belly.
In
junior high, I used to do two hundred crunches before bed each night, hoping to
trim my tummy for that future occasion when I might bare some skin in front of
my peers. The glances of guys and the acceptance of other young women – who, I
presumed, would only want someone attractive near them – motivated my efforts.
Looking
back, I see a twelve-year-old in the throes of early puberty, blossoming into a
curvy woman. She is so tender and beautiful, she defies the dimensions of any
midriff.
College
brought new confidence in everything I was – that is, everything outside the
solar plexus. I still did not ultimately trust myself; I could only trust
others’ judgments of me. My core remained weak, and I only held criticism of
its softness. I learned true vulnerability in the arms of my future husband. He
felt the full circumference of my spirit and ever encouraged me to expand.
Months
ago, something happened inside of me that brought fundamental change to my
life. In darkness and mystery, in the very center of my being, a new life was
born. He is still small enough to hold in my hands; I will have to wait until
June or July to finally look into his eyes. The center of my world has shifted
to rest on this child, my child, a person I have never even met but with whom I
am already desperately in love. This recalibration of my consciousness colors
everything differently.
My
body has begun to follow ancient maps, written in a language I will never know,
that direct the growth of my body as it makes way for this new life. The
transformation has brought challenge, but has overwhelmingly beckoned my
enchantment. The beauty of this evolution has redistributed the weight of
importance in every part of me.
Namely,
my stomach. I once longed for it to be small and flat. Now, I want the whole
world to notice its protrusion! Once upon a time, I reflexively sucked in air
when a friend reached for a hug; now, I stick out my middle in hope that someone
will touch it and exclaim with excitement. I once worried about the ways my
diet would improve or worsen my appearance; now, my concern is to increase the
number of centimeters I measure so that my baby is healthy. For the first time,
I am happy to take up space in this world because it is for such an evidently
precious purpose.
What
a shame that I have not always recognized that I take up space for a precious
purpose: to walk the planet as a beautifully embodied, abundant gift that
anyone should be grateful to receive.
Already,
I have let old patterns slip into my passing thoughts. Will my uterus shrink quickly enough so I can fit properly in a
bridesmaid gown? Will applying lotion daily be enough to prevent stretch marks?
I am not yet perfect in my perception of myself. But I am trying to teach
new habits through the marvel of this miraculous time. I proudly post pictures
of my baby bump. I gently hold my stomach as I speak tenderly to my baby, to
myself. I focus my questions on how I’m feeling, not how I think I’m looking,
and determine my well-being according to this standard of health. I look at
pictures of women who, standing courageously naked in the face of Judgment,
bare their stretch marks and sagging breasts, their bony shoulders and knobby
knees, their soft stomachs and big booties, their slender torsos and love
handles, their straight lines and their curves, their breadth and their
depth…and I take note that I am awed by their beauty. I rarely look long at
what they may deem to be flaws. Instead, I am captivated by their radiant
smiles, shining eyes, and the wonder of their whole being, rounded and full,
taking up just the right amount of space. I can even begin to gaze at myself
with such effortless grace.
And
when my baby comes into the world, crying and longing for his mother, he will
not notice that my belly is too big. He will nestle into the wonder of flesh
against flesh, basking in the warmth of coming earth-side. He will find my
receptive arms a perfect cradle, my breasts an ideal resting place, my belly
the center of all comfort and care he has ever known. The balance between
Acceptable and Not will be perfectly achieved in my relinquishment of striving
for it. When my stomach eventually recedes to a newfound waistline, I wish for
my ontological focus to expand indefinitely. The radical acceptance of Who I
Am, for the sake of my child, myself, and the world, will be the self-awareness
that centers me most fully.
