I have had this blog post saved to my drafts for a while now and every time I go to write another blog post, I see it there. Staring at me. Urging me to finish it off and publish it.
I kind of feel like it *needs* to be out there. But not for others, for me. I need to publish it for me.
These are my arms.
They are fat and flabby and wobble like a plate of jelly.
They are red and pimply. Sometimes they are a horrible shade of purple which people always seem to comment on.
“Are you cold? Your arms look ugly!”
No, I’m not cold, that’s just how my arms are. They are ugly, yes, but they are my arms.
These arms held my husband close for the first time
They felt the suns rays on the first warm day, letting me know that summer is coming.
They are raised in worship to my loving Saviour who died on the cross for my sins and who picked me up from the depths of despair and held me while I blossomed
These arms reached out to friends, family, strangers, letting them know I care
They helped bring our daughter into the world and held her for those first precious moments
These arms continue to hold her – when she is hurt, when she is joyful, when we are playing, when we are dancing and when we are snuggling.
These arms are incredible.
This is my tummy.
It is fat and flabby and unattractive.
It is covered in stretch marks from one side to the other and there is not a six pack in sight
It sticks out in rolls, each one a reminder of how ugly it is to be fat.
I may be fat and I may have stretchmarks, but it is my tummy.
It nurtured a baby for 9 months and gave it life. It grew and stretched so that my daughter could be healthy.
It contained kicks, wiggles, arms, elbows and other body parts which randomly jabbed me in the middle of the night
This tummy holds all the nutrients, good food and clean water which this country provides.
It reminds me how blessed I am to have these things – even if I do indulge a little too much sometimes
This tummy has held laughs, each escaping to fill a moment of joy
It is there for tickles, hugs, pokes or cuddles. It is sometimes used as a drum – Bella thinks it makes a nice sound
This tummy is incredible.
These are my legs.
They are hairy, white, thick and look like tree trunks.
I don’t have slender calves, or a prominent achilles tendon, and don’t even get me started on my thighs
They rub together and shudder with every step I take.
They have cellulite plastered over them as if my legs had a million dimples.
They may be unsightly and ugly, but they are my legs.
They have taken me to places that I never dreamed I would go. They have walked me down streets that changed my life.
These legs have run, have skipped, have hopped, have jumped. They have taken one step, then another. Just one foot in front of the other; sometimes that’s all that was needed.
They have taken my first steps and they will take my last
These legs have taken me everywhere I needed to go. They have run in fear, walked with peace, skipped with joy and danced with happiness.
My legs are incredible.
This is my face.
It has blemishes, a mole, hair growing where it shouldn’t, a crooked nose and a double chin.
It is unattractive and ugly. Most of the time it is hard to see the beauty in it. But this is my face.
It contains so much of me and can express so much of me.
This face can smile and light up the whole room. It can also cry and break someone’s heart.
It can speak words of encouragement, blessing and humour. But can also speak words of jealousy.
This face smiles at my daughter and kisses her for what seems like a million times a day.
It is part of what attracted my husband to me. That, and my hair. And smile.
This face has the power to speak, the power to smell, the power to see, the power to hear.
My face is incredible.
I am incredible.
No matter what.
