As I reflect on my life at the age of 37, I can’t help but think about how I once viewed this age as a sort of countdown to the end of youthful fun. I remember thinking that turning 37 meant entering a phase where Spanx would become my closest ally. It’s funny how quickly time flies. Before I knew it, I was staring down those 444 months that make up 37 years.
You might wonder, out of those 444 months, how many times I felt content with my reflection in the mirror. The answer? Zero. Not a single moment. It’s astonishing how that happens, isn’t it? There was a fleeting moment before fourth grade when I felt somewhat acceptable, sparked by a trendy denim jacket gifted by my grandparents. But other than that, self-acceptance was always just out of reach.
As a child, I longed for glossy, straight hair and wished to look like my friends, who I felt were the epitome of beauty. By high school, I briefly embraced my curls, but soon enough, I was back to wishing I could be taller, thinner—just generally less of myself. In my twenties, I critiqued every part of my body: my thighs were too big, my waist not small enough, and my arms never seemed quite right.
Fast forward to my thirties, and the self-criticism only intensified. New beauty standards emerged, and conversations about surgical fixes, like vaginal rejuvenation, became common. I remember thinking, “Oh great, just what I need—another thing to feel insecure about.” The reality is that our society places so much emphasis on appearance, and I’ve often found myself buying into those ideals, despite knowing how skewed they are.
Since turning 15, not a single day has passed without me comparing myself to other women, fretting about my weight or looks. It’s a sobering realization that, sitting here today, I’ve squandered an incredible amount of time wishing to be someone else. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to appreciate every moment, to celebrate my body just as it is. But alas, I must remind myself to embrace that lesson now, especially as I raise a daughter.
What kind of example am I setting for her? I tell her every day how perfect she is, how beautiful her heart and spirit are. Yet, I’ve never taken a moment to show that same love to myself. I’ve sent her countless messages, yet the underlying truth has always been that I am at war with my body. I’m constantly striving for change, but never reaching the finish line. It’s time to stop this endless race—for both of our sakes.
As I navigate this journey of acceptance, I’m reminded how crucial it is to embrace who we are, imperfections and all. If you’re interested in exploring more about body positivity and acceptance, I encourage you to check out this resource on pregnancy and self-acceptance. And if you’re curious about at-home insemination options, this article offers an excellent guide.
Summary:
At 37, I reflect on the years spent in self-criticism and the importance of embracing body positivity. I realize that I’ve never felt satisfied with my appearance, which influences the messages I send to my daughter. It’s time to break this cycle and focus on self-acceptance for both of us, recognizing the beauty in our imperfections. For more on this journey, consider resources on pregnancy and self-love.