Here I am, staring into the mirror at my thirty-one-year-old self.
There’s dark, never-ending bags under my eyes, brows that long to be waxed, and hair that sports my natural color for the first time in fifteen years. After baby number three, my clothes no longer fit the way they should and everything “sits” in a different spot than before.
Everyone is hooked on the self-care movement right now, and for whatever reason, I just cannot get it right. In fact, I find myself falling more and more in the opposite direction every. single. day.
You see, the last time I had “me time” was the hour I spent at the dentist last week. Let me tell you, that is not my idea of relaxation, but at least no one was hanging on me or asking for the umpteenth snack of the day. I cut my hair off at the beginning of summer, while on a simplifying kick. Turns out losing my ability to throw in a messy bun did not eliminate stress and added a good thirty minutes to my morning routine. That is if I even leave the house…
I fall into the social media jealousy trap weekly. Seeing a fellow mom getting a pedicure or a date night with her husband. I attempted an at-home pedicure a few weeks back. The baby woke up after two toes were polished and well…the rest is history. We do not have family in the area, so the option of a night out away from the kids is not feasible at this point in time. Having an infant who’s exclusively breastfed and attached to me 99% of the time makes it difficult to step away. Like, ever.
So, moms of social media royalty, how do you do it?
Once upon a time, a few years after my twins were born, I was a hairstylist and a pretty cool mom if I do say so. I ran half-marathons, rocked bright red hair, always had on clothes that matched and did not smell even the slightest of baby bodily fluids. I worked hard to get my body into an enjoyable shape and never hesitated to post a “selfie.”
Now, here we are down the road a bit and I feel like a seventy-year-old trapped inside a thirty-something’s body. But even saying that makes me laugh because I personally know some seventy-year-olds who are rocking self-care better than me!
I’m done. Done neglecting the self-care I know I deserve.
I’m done feeling sorry for myself and indulging in a Dr. Pepper and cookie dough ice cream instead of walking five steps further to the elliptical collecting dust in our house. I’m done buying clothes too big to cover up the new body my third child gifted me. I’m done skipping my morning and evening skin care routines because my pillow seems like a much better solution. And I’m definitely done serving my family healthy, homemade meals while I scarf down junk food when they exit the kitchen. (Yep, this is my life)
I’m going to accept that a weekly trip to the spa is not feasible in our budget. But I can use my knowledge of the beauty industry to pamper myself whenever time allows. I’m going to acknowledge just how unhealthy that bottle of soda is and refill my water bottle instead.
My clothes might not fit the way I’d like them to, but I’m going to be proud of what my body accomplished. I’ve carried three to term and am currently feeding one WITH MY BODY. That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever been able to admit. I have the tools to tone up or slim down the parts I’m not particularly fond of when I’m ready.
Self-care and I have butted heads for too long, and I know we’ll continue to for the rest of my life. But I have three children (and a husband) who are sick of me complaining and feeling sorry for myself.
Here’s to punching self-doubt in the face, rocking this mom life, and finding a killer concealer to hide those under eye bags!
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