Finding Home in My Own Body

This morning, I pulled on a pair of jeans I hadn't worn in a while.

One of my favorite Rock 'N Roll Denim Trouser pairs.

They buttoned.

They zipped.

They were... just a little snug.

A few years ago, that would've been enough to ruin my day.

I would've stood in front of the mirror pulling at my shirt, turning sideways, convincing myself I had failed. I would've mentally started another diet before I'd even poured my morning coffee.

Instead...

I smiled.

Not because I was excited they were snug.

But because, for the first time in my life, I realized they didn't get to decide how I felt about myself.

That may not sound like much.

But if you've spent your whole life struggling with body image, it's everything.

I've lived in a lot of different bodies.

I was the bigger kid.

The taller girl.

The one who always felt like she took up a little more space than everyone else.

I come from generations of hardworking German and Scandinavian farm families.

Strong shoulders. Strong legs. Strong women. Genetics that were never meant to fit into someone else's mold.

But when you're young, you don't understand genetics.

You understand comparison.

I spent years wondering why the cute clothes fit everyone else differently than they fit me. Why my friends could swap jeans while I stood in a different dressing room hoping maybe this store's sizing would be kinder than the last one.

Women's clothing has a funny way of making us believe we're the problem.

One brand says you're one size.

The next says you're three sizes bigger.

And somehow, we still let that tiny tag determine how we feel about ourselves.

Looking back, I wasn't just carrying extra weight.

I was carrying comparison.

I was carrying unrealistic expectations.

I was carrying depression.

I was carrying an unhealthy relationship with food.

I was carrying the belief that if I could just become smaller...

Then maybe I'd finally become enough.

As life moved forward, my body kept changing.

I became a mom.

After my first daughter, I eventually found my footing again. I committed to walking. I downloaded Couch to 5K. I tracked my food. I learned about protein. I learned consistency instead of perfection.

It wasn't quick.

It took years.

But I slowly became healthier.

Then life changed again.

I had twins.

Anyone who's carried children knows your body tells that story long after the babies are born.

Mine certainly did.

This time, the same things that had worked before didn't seem to work anymore.

Hormones were different.

Life was different.

Stress was different.

I remember feeling frustrated because it seemed like my own body had stopped listening.

Eventually, with my doctor's guidance, I started a GLP-1 medication.

I'm not ashamed to say that.

It helped me.

My joints felt better.

I had energy.

For the first time in years, I actually felt healthy.

But somewhere along the way, I became so focused on becoming smaller that I forgot to protect something else.

My strength.

I lost muscle.

I lost my curves.

I even lost my butt.

Horse people understand why that matters.

Hours in the saddle become a whole lot less comfortable.

And somewhere in all of that...

I had a realization I never expected.

For the first time in my life, I had become one of those little skinny girls I'd spent decades comparing myself to.

And...

It wasn't everything I thought it would be.

I didn't want to be the smallest version of myself.

I wanted to be the strongest.

When I later changed jobs, I lost my insurance coverage and eventually came off the medication.

I'll admit it.

I was scared.

I'd heard all the horror stories.

I was convinced I would gain everything back.

Some weight came back.

About twenty pounds.

But something else came back too.

Strength.

Energy.

Muscle.

Perspective.

These days, I don't obsess over the scale.

I pay attention to how I feel.

How I sleep.

How my joints feel.

Whether I have enough energy to work all day, ride horses in the evening, laugh with my girls, and still chase the dreams that keep me awake at night.

I've realized that health isn't just measured in pounds.

It's measured in life.

Somewhere over the last year, something quietly changed inside me.

For years, every version of my body felt like a project.

Something to fix.

Something to shrink.

Something to apologize for.

Now...

It feels like a partner.

This body has carried me through every season of my life.

It carried the little girl who never thought she measured up.

It carried the young woman trying to figure out who she was.

It carried three beautiful daughters.

It carried stress.

Joy.

Heartbreak.

Healing.

It carried me through building a business.

Through long nights in the barn.

Through dreams that felt impossible.

It never quit.

It simply kept carrying me.

And yet, for years...

I treated it like the enemy.

Maybe that's what finally changed.

I stopped asking,

"How can I make my body smaller?"

And started asking,

"How can I take better care of the body that's taken care of me?"

Those are two completely different questions.

I still want to be healthy.

I still want to get stronger.

I still want to fuel my body well, drink more water, lift weights, and become the best version of myself.

But I'm done believing I have to hate myself to get there.

Because here's what I know now.

My worth has never lived in the number on a scale.

It has never lived on the tag inside my jeans.

It has never been determined by whether I could fit into someone else's definition of beautiful.

This morning, my jeans were a little snug.

Years ago, that would've started another war with myself.

Today...

They simply reminded me that bodies change.

They're supposed to.

They carry us through childhood.

Through motherhood.

Through stress.

Through healing.

Through seasons of surviving.

Through seasons of thriving.

Maybe the goal was never to become the smallest version of myself.

Maybe the goal was always to find the version of my body where I feel healthy... strong... capable... and at peace.

I think I'm finally finding her.

And honestly...

She feels a whole lot more like home than any number on a scale ever did.