Postpartum body shame can affect any of us.  

This morning, like countless mornings as a mom, my day began at 5:30 am with the familiar, delightful chaos of making school lunch and getting my children ready for school. The scent of their breakfast, the last-minute scramble for a forgotten book, the sweet goodbyes, and watching my two-year-old eagerly grab his bag and rush to the door so everyone can hurry up and follow him is a symphony many of us know well. Then came my own quiet routines: enjoying the peace of being alone, and the comforting warmth of a shower, a small act that has become essential for my self-love journey. I need a shower where I do not have to rush or shout at someone to leave my bathroom, and not open the shower door while I am bathing. I enjoy the familiar feel of applying lotion on my body, applying my DIY body perfume spray, and the simple act of dressing for my day, reinforcing my commitment to self-love.

But today, as I stood before my mirror, my reflection held a different kind of power. Instead of the usual internal dialogue of critiquing my body, which often feeds postpartum body shame, I felt a sense of gratitude pour over me. That feeling settled deep into my bones and nurtured my self-love.

“God, I am thankful,” I whispered, surprising even myself. Then the remaining prayer followed like a poet spitting bars. “God, I am grateful for my beautiful body.” This gratitude was not for a body that fits the societal mold of perfect, flawless, airbrushed, or unblemished. 

No, the beauty I saw today was much deeper. It was the beauty of a story, a testament to a life lived, to love given, to battles won. My body, in its current form, bears the undeniable sacred marks of womanhood, and even more deeply, of motherhood. It’s a body that has endured postpartum body shame and emerged stronger through self-love.

My gaze softened as I looked at my stretch marks, those silvery lines that once brought a pang of disappointment and stoked the fires of postpartum body shame. Today, for the first time, I saw them not as flaws, but as badges of honor, and etched maps of a miraculous journey. 

“Thank you for the stretch marks,” I acknowledged, my voice laced with a newfound reverence and a commitment to self-love. They are constant, tender reminders that I am a mother, a blessed status, a sacred journey so heartbreakingly denied to countless women who long for it with every fiber of their being. This sudden clarity, this embrace of the beauty of imperfection, felt like a revelation, freeing me from the chains of postpartum body shame.

The Sacred Scars Of Postpartum Body Shame: A Mother’s Evolving Canvas

This body carried within it and brought forth two handsome, brilliant, and truly wonderful boys. My once-taut stomach, a flat landscape I knew so well, now carries the indelible narrative of their growth. It is a softer curve, yet a testament to the life it nurtured and the space it created. And honestly, a part of me still feels my postpartum body shame, yearning for that pre-baby silhouette, for the nostalgic dream of a 29-inch waist, for the clothes that once fit with effortless grace. 

But this morning, those lingering feelings of postpartum body shame were overshadowed by an overwhelming flood of blessings. This body, in its current, magnificent form, is living proof of divine grace as a vessel chosen for an incredible, life-altering purpose. It proudly displays the journey of motherhood, a path I am so incredibly blessed to walk.

I looked at my hips, no longer just a measurement on a tape, but a testament to strength, to expansion, to holding and releasing life. My entire being resonated with this newfound appreciation. 

My gratitude overflowed like a wellspring from deep within. I found myself thanking God for the honor of carrying such beautiful memories, for walking such a remarkable path. 

The Unfiltered Reality: Changing Forms, Enduring Gratitude

This morning, my attention also lingered on my breasts. These breasts, which I had always loved, deeply cherished, almost adored. Growing up, they were a source of immense confidence. They were plump, firm, always “popped out” and standing proudly, a vibrant declaration whenever I undressed. My female friends, seeing their fullness, often expressed envy. Now, after bearing, nourishing, and sustaining life, they hang lower. The gravity of motherhood, literal and metaphorical, has left its mark. I could feel a whisper of postpartum body shame, a reminder of how quickly our bodies change, but I refused to let it define me.

I have found myself subtly, almost unconsciously, shying away from certain necklines, from clothes that once felt so effortlessly beautiful and liberating. I constantly find myself wondering if there is a “miracle” half-bra out there, some engineering marvel that can lift “these girls” up again, defying the laws of physics and postpartum reality. It is a noticeable change, a deeply personal physical marker of this incredible, demanding, and ultimately, rewarding journey. Yet, even in this vulnerable observation, there is a unique beauty of imperfection that comes with nurturing life, a story of selflessness and sacrifice written on my very skin. By embracing it, I slowly dismantle the chains of postpartum body shame.

And then, my stomach. Oh, my stomach! It is a source of deep frustration, and honestly, a bit of quiet embarrassment that I rarely voice aloud. I wear a size medium, a generally accepted “average” size, yet I can no longer see my vagina without explicitly looking in the mirror. For a woman my size, it feels counterintuitive, almost like a betrayal of expectation. I feel I should be able to see it, to connect with that intimate part of myself daily, effortlessly. Yet, even in moments like these, I consciously resist letting postpartum body shame take root.

The reality of not being able to visually connect with that part of my body, the part that birthed life, can be surprisingly disheartening. And the practicalities? Shaving has become a time-consuming task, requiring awkward angles and an almost gymnastic flexibility. It is a small, daily frustration that compounds the feeling of disconnect. However, even with these new physical realities, these surprising alterations that childbirth etched upon my form, the prevailing feeling that anchors me is still gratitude. 

Thank you, God. This journey, with all its unexpected shifts, its undeniable changes, its areas of frustration, still holds a deeper beauty of imperfection. It’s a reminder that life’s most profound gifts often come with transformations we didn’t anticipate, but which ultimately carry their own unique grace.

Think about it for a moment, truly ponder the immense desire so many harbor for this very experience. Across cultures, across continents, millions of dollars are spent on fertility treatments, on surrogacy; countless prayers are offered daily for the chance to bear these “scars,” these beautiful marks of motherhood. Many women would embrace any physical change, endure any discomfort, for the sheer joy of carrying a child to term. And I? I experienced it not once, but twice, with an ease that continually humbles me to my core. 

My first son arrived so swiftly, so naturally, it felt almost effortless, an unexpected blessing. My second son followed so closely that I was still in the early stages of recovery from the first birth! The sheer grace with which God gifted me these children, the comparative ease of my pregnancies and deliveries, is a deep blessing, a journey many yearn for but tragically never experience. Postpartum body shame might have whispered in the background, but gratitude and love won every time.

Beyond the Physical: Appreciating Present Blessings in Every Corner of Life

This newfound gratitude and shift in perspective extended far beyond my physical form. It spread throughout my life, settling into spaces I once viewed with a critical eye. My home, for instance. It’s not my dream house, not the grand dwelling I often envision, the one I sometimes still include in my daily prayers. But this morning, instead of longing for what’s next, I chose to bathe it in appreciation for what it is, right now. It may not be perfect, but it is a sanctuary, brimming with the palpable warmth of love, laughter, and the bustling energy of my children. Even in its flaws, in its small quirks and imperfections, there is an undeniable beauty of imperfection that makes it uniquely ours. It is my haven.

Consider the realities of living in West Africa, specifically Nigeria, where the persistent presence of mosquitoes is a daily fact of life. The incessant whine in your ear as you try to sleep, the itchy bites, the constant battle against malaria, it’s a shared experience here. Yet, even this mundane challenge is a strange form of gratitude in me today. I realized the immense blessing of not being plagued by their constant whining in my ears every night. I am thankful for screened windows, for the privilege of a peaceful night’s rest, free from that particular torment. It’s a small thing, yes, but it speaks volumes about the everyday comforts we often overlook.

I am thankful for this cozy en-suite room, for the luxury of a private bathroom attached to my personal space. I am thankful for a three-bedroom house with nearly four bathrooms, a testament to comfort and convenience that many aspire to. I am grateful for the ability to afford help, a maid who assists me, making my daily life easier, freeing up precious time and energy for me to write, my children, and myself. And for a husband who, this very morning, when I overslept and the clock raced towards school time, stepped in without a word to help bathe the children, a level of partnership, support, and shared responsibility that, sadly, not everyone is fortunate enough to experience. These are the threads of everyday blessings, woven into the tapestry of my life, each representing a quiet beauty of imperfection that makes life rich. Even here, I remind myself that postpartum body shame cannot diminish the abundant blessings that surround me.

My life, with its burgeoning career that I’m actively building, small and large blessings, feels deeply appreciated. But as I stood before that mirror, it was this body, in all its current, evolving reality, that truly held my focus. While the dream of a “perfect” body persists, a vision of what could be, today, I consciously choose to love and appreciate the one I have right now. This is a powerful, ongoing step towards recognizing and celebrating the beauty of imperfection that defines our human experience. It’s about accepting the now, even as we strive for the future, and letting postpartum body shame fade into gratitude and self-love.