Dear Beach Body

Dear Beach Body,

Since I was a tween, I’ve been through all the five stages of grief over you: denial, anger (so much anger), bargaining, depression (that one went too far), and finally–at long last–acceptance.

Now, that acceptance is still a conscious choice I have to make every dang day.  It’s an acceptance that comes and goes. In fact, right before and after the above photo was snapped by one lovely friend and cheered on by several others, I was about a hot-second away from either crying or throwing up.  I just couldn’t decide on which reaction:)  But then I put on my big-girl panties, made you stand tall, and smiled.

I want to tell you something about yourself:

You’ve got two arms that rock babies, carry heavy children, and lift weights, too.
You’ve got two legs that have run thousands of miles and are held on to several times a day by little hands.
You’ve got breasts that have exclusively nursed babies for three years.
You’ve got a tummy that has stretched and pulled to the size of a beach ball, thrice.
You’ve got hips that have widened to help those babies grow.
You’ve got a butt that, while flat, is strong enough to allow you to do all the exercise you love.

But beyond all that, you’ve got a head with a brain inside.  One that can think for itself, one that can decide that this body is OK just the way it is.  A brain that can choose to believe that this body can be beautiful to the husband it loves, the babies it grew, and the soul that resides inside of it.

And that last part is the most important.

Beach Body, you are just fine.

Love,

Monica

—–

If you want to join the movement of re-thinking what it means to be “swimsuit” ready, check out the hashtag #redefineswimsuitready on Instagram.  Better yet, be extra brave and take a picture of you in your swimsuit and post it–like me–before you analyze it to death.  You’re beautiful!

Updated to add, link to blog post where the founder of the movement explains more!