I saw a video this morning that made me cry.

Women of all ages, colors, sizes, and shapes were being asked to describe their bodies.
I kept hearing the words, “Imperfect,” and “Disgusting,” and each time, I was shocked.
Disgusting?
These women weren’t sitting in filth. They didn’t appear to be unwashed and odorous.
Disgusting?

It seems that, to many women, “imperfect” is equal to “disgusting.”

If that’s the case, then I’ve always been disgusting.

Even in my mother’s womb, my body was imperfect.
I emerged into this world with ‘some assembly required.’
I’m pretty certain that my parents didn’t think I was perfect.
But, I’m 100% certain they didn’t think I was “disgusting.”
I believe they found me beautiful, and full of hope and potential.

Still, I did quickly learn the ways of body shaming.
Perhaps not in the usual way, finding soft parts, and flabby parts, and parts that aren’t quite shaped the way everyone draws them or edits them in photographs.
In fact, as a teen, I was gloriously thin, and I have the photos to prove it.
But I had scars, and a leg that bent kinda funny.

I found that people stared, and some became uncomfortable, and some even shouted out words to label me, attempting to describe and become more comfortable with something they didn’t understand.

And so I learned to cover them up.
But I didn’t think my body was “disgusting.”

When I wore a swimsuit, there was never a bikini. Why not? Because of the smallest pooch in my stomach. I was self-conscious. My stomach was not perfectly flat, as I perceived it should be.

Still, I never thought my body was “disgusting.”

I met a man who thought I was perfect, and beautiful. I married him, and we had two perfect children together. He still tells me I’m beautiful (even if he’s figured out that I’m not perfect).

He would be horrified at the thought that my body was “disgusting.”

Years later I realized that once I moved to a new community, I had stopped wearing shorts and swimsuits altogether. To do so would expose the scars and lead to questions. Under the cover of clothes, I could be perceived as “normal.” Once I realized this, I took a leap of faith and exposed the skin, the scars, and the imperfections, and yes, there were questions. I provided answers, and I was still loved and accepted.

Over the years, my body has become soft, and overweight. I sag in places that I’d rather not sag. Sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder if people ever think I’m pregnant, because that little pooch in my stomach is not so little anymore. I’m more “solid” than “petite” nowadays, and I could stand to lose more than a few pounds.

I recognize all of this, and yet, my body is not “disgusting.”

My greatest challenge is not with comparing myself to the images in the media, whether photoshopped, or weight contracted, or covered in make-up. I know about those. My greatest challenge is with comparing my current self with my younger self. Hindsight (pun intended) is 20-20, and now I can say with complete honesty that I was always beautiful. I should have worn bikinis and shorts. It’s easy to look back and point to a time when I can see that I was at my prime. The trick is to remind myself that I am still “prime.”

My body has been taken apart, and put back together again – more than once. It has run, and jumped, and swum, and hiked. It has kissed, made love, and borne children that it was never supposed to be able to carry. It has skied, and hugged, and nursed, and comforted. It has sewed, crocheted, danced, sung, cooked, eaten (and eaten some more), gardened, driven, and been massaged. It has grown, and shrunk again and again, and it has been loved.

This is MY body. It’s not perfect – never has been, and never will be. But it’s mine, and it houses everything that I am. It reflects the experiences of my life. I love my body, because I love myself, even if I frown at it in the mirror, knowing that I could do more – and I will, when I’m good and ready. For me, not for a society that doesn’t want to see my scars or my fat.

God does not give you a body and a contract that requires you to return it in the same condition you received it. God gives you a body and says, “Use it. When you’re finished with it, I’ll recycle it.”