Like some women . . . not all women . . . but a healthy number of women . . . or maybe an unhealthy number of women . . . I was obsessed with my weight. I measured quarter inches, weighed ounces, exercised and denied myself until there was nothing left to deny. I thought about my weight, my body, my image until it crowded out all other concerns. I knew if I were thin there would be nothing left I could ever want.

That was where I was three years ago.

Then something happened, a baby. Then another something happened, another baby. Then another, another something happened, a pregnancy which will hopefully result in baby three in the late fall.

I don’t obsess anymore.

It’s not like I’ve worked through my issues and suddenly I understand the glory of a women’s body. I mean, there are moments spent day-dreaming of the time when my body stops fluctuating to accommodate gestating or milk-drinking humans and my body is mine to deny again. But those idealistic moments are fleeting because there’s cheese to slice for grilled cheese sandwiches or shoes to tie or sleep to catch. I simply don’t have time to think much about my body–how it looks, how it sways, how it appeals– although sometimes my husband reminds me. You know, in that gratuitous–look at how big your chest is getting!–excited sort of way.

And when I exercise it’s really for clearing my mind. It’s to allow my spirit to breathe. I am sure it helps my cardiovascular system, I just don’t think about it much. I love the wisdom in this: Care not for the body, neither for the life of the body. But care for the soul, and the life of the soul.*

I think the soul is the spirit plus the body. A healthy spirit will build a healthy body. But focusing alone on the body will destroy the spirit.

Mostly, I wake up, put on my house dress and work until the day is done. And when the work is done (it’s never done) and the day is over I look at my body and thank it for being so accommodating. At the end of the day that is all I can ask of it. It was never meant to fulfill day dreams of perfection. It wasn’t created for attraction alone. It was meant to do what I needed it to do. And it does.

As someone who struggles with depression and self image issues, it can be hard to focus on what is beautiful about myself. I have spent so much time devoted to telling myself I was ugly, and hideous and not of worth, it’s almost a natural instinct to say, “nothing is beautiful.” But I know that is not true.

For years and years I would try on at least 3 outfits every day before school. I would say, “ugh! I look so fat!” or “people will think i am so ugly in this!” and finally, I would settle on something because if I didn’t I would be late for school. I remember one day as I was gazing in the mirror, deciding what level of ugly I was that day, I noticed how beautiful my hair was. I noticed that it was thick, and shiny and had beautiful waves. I noticed that it framed my face perfectly. And while I might not be happy with my overall appearance, I was genuinely happy with my hair. That day I made progress.

Every day since then I have looked in the mirror, and maybe I haven’t loved everything I have seen, but at least I have loved my hair. It has been an accessory I can wear every day that helps me feel confident, and beautiful and puts a pep in my step! And as silly as this may sound, every day I am grateful for that day that I realized that I had pretty hair…because that day I realized, there was something about me that was beautiful. Something that made me feel of worth.

And ever since then I have known, it’s not just my hair that is of worth. It’s me.