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My Mom Jeans Don’t Define My Worth
Recently, while coming down from a caffeine-fueled frenzy, I had a revelation. As a relatively new mom, my journey started in 2012 when I tied the knot and, shortly thereafter, found myself staring at those two little lines on a pregnancy test. Fast forward, and now my husband and I are navigating life with two energetic boys just 15 months apart. Talk about cosmic irony!
In less than three years, I transitioned from lounging in a bikini with a mimosa to wearing (gasp) mom jeans while trying to shed a few pounds with the hope of fitting back into size 6 jeans. Let’s be real—this is a lofty goal! One day, while mindlessly scrolling through Facebook, I caught myself judging my mom bod against those of my stunning friends. This comparison game was wearing me out, and my Red Bull addiction was starting to feel like an expensive habit. What if I stopped trying to portray a perfect life online and shared the messy, unfiltered truth instead?
I’ve always been competitive. Whether in sports or snagging my first job, I’ve felt the need to measure up. My collection of medals and ribbons from years of athleticism is proof that I didn’t completely fail. But my competitive nature has sometimes strained friendships, especially after heated intramural soccer matches or during intense beach volleyball games. I admit, I can be a bit intense when it comes to sports.
However, after having my kids, I realized that my focus shifted from competition to self-acceptance. I found myself mentally battling every day, scrutinizing my reflection and grappling with stretch marks, wondering if my abs would ever reappear. I would stare longingly at my college jeans, lamenting the tacos and milkshakes that accompanied my pregnancies. For the first time, I felt like a failure—a squishy, vulnerable failure. My body image took a significant hit.
I envied those superwomen who flaunted their post-baby bodies in bikinis shortly after childbirth. Their flawless figures made me feel inadequate, and I was too embarrassed to even step foot in Walmart, where society seemed to dictate that motherhood shouldn’t excuse a lack of a model-like appearance (seriously, Walmart!).
I tried to starve myself only to find myself devouring an entire pack of Oreos out of sheer hunger. I hit the gym like it was my last resort, telling everyone I was just aiming to be healthy. Lies! I was chasing an impossible ideal—abs like Jessica Alba, arms like Jennifer Aniston, and a backside like Beyoncé. Totally realistic, right? I was a woman obsessed with an outdated reflection, determined to reclaim that version of myself.
The saddest part? In my quest for perfection and my tumultuous relationship with the treadmill, I was neglecting the very ones who mattered most—my sweet boys, who needed my full attention. One day, as I dropped them off at the gym daycare, my eldest son, Max, pressed his little nose against the glass door, tears welling in his big brown eyes, pleading with me not to leave. In that heart-wrenching moment, I realized I had become so consumed with my self-image that I was missing out on the joys that made my body what it is today. Was fitting into my old jeans really more important than spending time with my kids? Absolutely not.
That day, I made a pivotal decision: to stop competing with an unrealistic standard, to stop tearing myself down, and to indulge in a milkshake. I allowed myself to embrace imperfection. I stopped sucking in every time I walked past a mirror and quit wearing Spanx to bed.
Being a mom is more than enough for me. My priorities are my boys, not my body. I take care of myself, but more importantly, I take care of them. And trust me, I burn plenty of calories keeping up with their antics. A little friendly competition is healthy, but I refuse to let swimsuit season overshadow the precious moments I have with my little ones.
Forget social media’s pressure to compete with anyone over who can still look like their old self. I will always be that competitive spirit—whether it’s during games of Uno or football season with friends. And while my jeans may be stretchier and my dresses a size or two larger, I am still a fierce competitor at heart.
Ultimately, I feel like we are all on the same team. Here’s hoping we all achieve victory in our own unique ways.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the author’s journey as a new mom who grapples with body image issues and societal pressures to look a certain way. Through personal anecdotes and realizations, she concludes that being a mother is more rewarding than fitting into old jeans, emphasizing the importance of self-acceptance and prioritizing family over unrealistic beauty standards.