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Own Your Beauty is a groundbreaking, year-long movement bringing women together to change the conversation about what beauty means. Our mission: to encourage and remind grown women that it is never too late to learn to love one's self and influence the lives of those around us - our mothers, friends, children, neighbors. We can shift our minds and hearts and change the path we follow in the pursuit of authentic beauty.
This post was supposed to contain many more pictures. Revealing pictures of my wrecked postpartum body.I didn’t chicken out, it’s just that my “photographer” (Jessie) had a moment and the picture session was nixed for the evening.
“But Somer,” you may be asking. “Why the hell were you going to post pictures of your body and broadcast them to the whole world? Are you just becoming desperate for attention?” My simple reply to that is to say “fuck off.” The more in-depth reply is to explain that my truth concerning my body is different from what super models who walk the runway in lingerie six weeks after giving birth have. My truth is that my body never returned to what it was pre-baby. My truth is that my stretch marks were not minimal and the stretched skin never really puckered back up. My truth is that my belly button will always look a little weird and wrinkly now. My truth is that there will always be a bit of a lip at the bottom of my stomach from where the loose skin hangs, thanks to either C-sections or very large babies. I wanted to post pictures of my truth to show that I have no regrets concerning this truth. I have no fear of it. I wanted to post it to give people who share a similar truth something to look at and smile a knowing smile.
I can fit into my pre-pregnancy pants. My shoes all still fit. My boobs deflated back to their sad and hilarious small size. But I’m not the same. I think most women who go through pregnancy feel that way. Your body just isn’t quite the same. Some changes are minor and are easy to forget. Other changes are more glaring. When I look at pictures of myself running around in small bikinis or shirts that revealed my super sexy belly button, my mouth might turn down slightly before I see another picture of one of my sons. I smile and say, “I gave those skimpy clothes a good run,” and go on with my life.
The pictures would have explained a lot. Some people would gasp and say, “Oh, that poor girl.” Others would scoff and say that I have it easy. Each pair of eyes is a different filter, and my truth colors differently through those filters. I guess what I want to impart is that for me, it’s ok to be stretched out, saggy and discolored. I still feel sexy. I am someone with extra skin who has no intentions whatsoever to have cosmetic surgery to get me back to my 21-year-old body.
I won’t be wearing bikinis on the beach, and I won’t be seen in half-shirts anymore. Those days are gone and, quite frankly, I’m too old for some of that anyhow. I’m not going to regret the loss of that taut skin or fear letting anyone see what has become of my body. You know why?
That’s why.
And it doesn’t hurt that my butt still looks rockin’ in a good pair of blue jeans.
Ah, the sagging skin. The hilariously deflated belly button. There’s a mole on my stomach that used to be right beside my belly button that has migrated, thanks to stretched skin, more to my side.
The C-section lip. And the craziness of my stretch marks. And oh yeah, some side-butt. You can just ignore that last one.
Truth time folks: Stretch marks happen. Those fancy creams and oils on the market to prevent them or diminish them don’t do much. Granted, my babies were rather large, but these stretch marks are NOT new. Those
