I'm learning to heart my body.

I thought this would be easier. I am a confident girl. I don’t love the way I look, but I don’t hate it. Some days I look in the mirror and smile. Some days I look at the mirror in frustration. But everyday I get out of bed feeling better than the day before. I have identified the difference between body image and health, and have decided that health comes first.  I don’t go to the gym any more to lose weight; I go to gain health. Oh Cas, how cliché. But it’s true, I really do.

But I still care about how I look.  Body image still weighs on my mind.

If you were to ask what I hated about mybody I could go on for days. I really could. It’s sad, but it’s true. Once upon a time the only thing I loved about my body was my doubles D’s, but since breastfeeding I have space in my C cup bras. We are our biggest critiques, and I am one ofthe most critical people.

But then I think about myself, and who I am. What would most people say? What would I say about myself?

Last week James and I were discussing Oliver’s looks. He is a spitting image of his Dad. I proclaimed, “he is you all over, but he has my beautifulsmile”. I almost choked on my words as they came out.

It’s true; I do have a beautiful smile. I have the world’s biggest smile, and it is genuine. It comes from my heart and shines through my eyes. I have always been proud of my straight teeth. I think I always appreciated my smile. I think I always suspected it was contagious. But I never EVER would have mentioned it to anyone. Heaven forbid.

But there I was in everyday conversation complimenting my smile, complimenting myself.

I was a bit embarrassed to be honest. I put myself out there and what if my husband didn’t agree. But he did, of course he did. My son has a beautiful smile; I love it. And it is my smile; I heart my smile.

I am covered in marks. I fell off a skateboard when I was 12 and ripped open my calf. It is still discolored. I have 7 tattoos, each one a special reminder of a time and place in my life. I have moles on the back of my legs from the summers in my youth when I would lay on the sand, sans sunscreen trying desperately to tan my white-as-a-ghost skin. I have had piercings in my face and body that have either been taken out, or ripped out.

My body is a road map. Each mark comes with a story, a memory, and a moment in time that has made me who I am.

Amongst my favorite mark, my favorite moment, are my stretchmarks. They represent my body’s greatest creation, my son. At first I hated them, I applied bio oil every day throughout my pregnancy. 14 months postpregnancy and I wear them with pride, they are representative of my bodies full potential.

I used to cover my scars, hide my tattoos from my peer mothers and maternal health nurses or pretend they were a ‘mistake of my past’. I don’t do that any more. I am proud of them; I don’t need to be ashamed, I don’t need to reconfirm people’s idea that tattoos are a mistake when I don’t truly think that just to make them feel better. It doesn’t make me feel better.

Each marking is as much a part of me as myleft arm or little toe, and I heart them.

I have spoken about my issues with my weight and body image just recently. I am just starting to some out from behind the shame that was ignorance towards health, and ignorance towards loving myself.

I may have been within my acceptable BMI before; I may have been societies idea of a “healthy” size before; I may have been happier with the way I looked before; but I have never been healthier before. I am truly beginning to feel good, for the first time in my life.

When I walk with my son to the park I am not a breathless mess by the time we get there, I still have the energy to run around with him.

When I go out to our local Thai restaurant my husband and I order one meal to share, it’s all we need. I walk away so satisfied with the meal. I am not over full, I am not regretful and I don’tfeel guilty. I feel good.

When I go to the gym I don’t hit the down arrow, I hit the up arrow. If I doubt my ability to run that last km, I remind myself of what I am capable of; I remind myself of birthing my son.

If I do treat myself to some Ben and Jerry’s I don’t beat myself up. I congratulate myself for not devouring the whole tub.

Yesterday I wanted to go to the postoffice, but it is a pain to get a park. Instead I parked at a shopping centre a km away and walked. It was the easiest way to do it and it involved 2km of walking. Howmy frame of mind has changed.

My body is a part of me, representative of me; it is me. It may not be the small frame I would like, it may not have the doubles D’s of my past. But it is the healthiest it has ever been, and I love that.

I heart my health. And because I heart my health I am learning to love my body, not just for the way it looks but also for what it does for me each and every day.

This has been written as a part of We Heart Life's “I heart my body 2012” campaign and puts me in the running to win a photoshoot with Ulyana from Stories by Ulyana!