To My Body: Here Is Why I’m Proud of You

To My Body: Here Is Why I’m Proud of You

Alex (Jasmine) Roberts

I look down at you with harsh eyes.

Eyes trained to search for flaws before they search for truth.

Stretch marks. Curves. Hair that grows where I wish it wouldn’t.

Skin that tells stories I sometimes don’t want to hear.

And in that quiet bathroom moment, I judge.

I criticize.

I let hateful thoughts creep in, whispering that you are not enough.

I forget, for a moment, all that you have held.

The door swings open without warning, little hands pushing it wide, a small body bursting into my space. My beautiful six-year-old stands there, completely uninvited and entirely welcome. He doesn’t hesitate. He never does. His eyes sparkle with certainty and love.

“You are so beautiful,” he says, smiling like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And suddenly, everything stops.

I look down again, but this time, not to judge.

This time, I remember.

I remember the angel babies you carried  so briefly, yet so completely. I remember how you tried anyway. How you opened yourself again and again, even when loss taught you fear. I remember how love existed even when goodbye came too soon.

I remember my son my miracle baby who called you home for nine months.

How you stretched for him.

How you protected him.

How his tiny hands would press outward.

I remember lying still just to feel him move, just to know he was there.

I remember my little sister resting her head against my stomach, her hands wrapped around it as if my belly were her teddy bear. As if the life inside me belonged to all of us. As if you, my body, were something safe. Something warm. Something full of promise.

And suddenly, the stretch marks don’t look like damage anymore.

They look like proof.

The curves don’t feel like failure.

They feel like evidence of growth, of change, of survival.

Even the scars feel sacred in this moment.

So to my body, I want to say this clearly, without shame, without apology.

Thank you.

Thank you for allowing me the chance to carry life.

Thank you for holding love, even when it broke your heart.

Thank you for enduring loss and still finding the strength to try again.

Thank you for giving me motherhood

even if only once (I do pray you continue trying with me.) because once was enough to change me forever.

Even with the losses, even with the pain, I got to experience a love so deep it rewrote my soul. I got to know what it feels like to be someone’s first home. I got to be chosen by a tiny heartbeat that trusted me completely.

And that is something to be proud of.

I am proud of you for surviving grief.

I am proud of you for continuing to show up.

I am proud of you for carrying stories that aren’t always visible.

I may still struggle. I may still judge. I may still forget sometimes.

But today, I remember.

To my body:

You are not ruined.

You are not weak.

You are not something to be ashamed of.

You are a place where love lived.

And because of that,

I am proud of you.