I can’t tell you how much I wish I was one of those women who post birth, doesn’t think about their post birth body.

Who doesn’t obsess over it on a daily basis. Who doesn’t berate themselves for not looking as they did before — three weeks after having a baby. Yeah. I’ve got probs.

In all actuality, I didn’t think these sorts of women really existed, but they do. Because I’ve talked to them and the kicker is — they weren’t bullshitting.

I’ve got to get this shit together, People. Like yesterday. But we’re not at yesterday, we’re at today and this is what I have and what I can try to do:

Love myself.

How many times have I said this on here? Don’t anyone actually give me a specific number. I’m well aware of my preaching and struggling with self love. I’ve been at it since I was 7.

That’s how old I was when I first thought I was fat. Do you know I can still feel 7 year old me sitting at her second grade desk, with the striped pink and purple and white shirt on that was a Christmas gift from my grandmother. It was after lunch and as I was trying to concentrate on the grammar lesson at hand, my legs swinging beneath the desk, I felt my thighs rubbing together and I just felt … well, fat.

I’m really not sure if I”ll ever not have that part of me existing … can we ever shed those aspects of ourselves that were formed so early on in childhood? Maybe not, but I do believe, and wholeheartedly so, that I can love myself and that I am worthy of that love.

I think I do an okay job of this. Not stellar and there is much room for improvement but I also know I’ll keep at it and perhaps that’s all we can ever ask of ourselves … just day by day, accepting who we are, where we are and where we want to be going.

I want to be going towards love, not away from it. And every time I’m hard on myself, every time I step on the scale, every time I compare and take score, I’m moving away.

When I look at FOH, I am met with a direct reflection and result of just how powerful my body is … I mean, I grew an entire person in there! Does it matter if my stomach isn’t flat and defined? No, it doesn’t. It really doesn’t. Nor if it never will be again. This isn’t the important stuff, that I know and that is also what makes this body image shit all the more frustrating.

I guess all I have to do is to simply keep at it. Moment by moment. Choose love instead of disdain or hate. Choose appreciation.

I’ll get there … eventually. Love has a strange way of prevailing, despite anything.