I am currently entering the phase of the year where I am most reminded of the fact that my mom died. Yes, I know, every day I am reminded that she died, but as we enter spring,
I was at my therapist today and she put her feet up on a stool due to a pain she was having and quickly apologized for being unprofessional. I stopped her mid sentence and laughed because (if you’ve read my previous blog posts) she was at my birth, she literally watched a child come out of my vagina. I said “seriously, we have a different relationship than that, you saw me push out a baby…put your feet up”.
At 32 years old, I have 3 kids. 3 beautiful, spirited children that I grew and birthed from my womb. The body I had before them and the body I have now are basically of two entirely different people. What once was voluptuous and toned, is now soft and empty…something I somehow wasn’t prepared for. One of my inner mantras is telling myself that what is now empty was once full of nutrients that sustained and grew my 3 children. It is a remarkable thing, what my body did, but it doesn’t take away from the feelings of disappointment with what I was left with.