Becoming Myself

I have learned to love my legs. 

This is a statement I have only recently come to peace with. In fact, I hated my legs and other physical features for many years. As a Christian woman, I thought this was humility. My statement mirrored the other women I hung around. It brought us to an even plane. 

One young mom frowned saying, “You are so skinny.”

I shot back, “Too skinny actually, but your skin is porcelain clear. My complexion is awful without makeup."

We were caught in the comparison trap. The effort to complement each other did not help as we had hoped. Sadly, our self-deprecation only brought further shame.

I never stopped to think about the harm of such exchanges. This was just womanhood from my understanding. You were supposed to hate your body. It was only normal, but there was a problem. I was miserable in my skin. This misery was magnified in my twenties and thirties while raising small children and maintaining a highly visible ministry.

I falsely believed I had to look perfect.

Stasi Eldredge writes about this struggle with identity in her book, Becoming Myself. As I picked up her book a few years ago I finally started to learn how to make peace with myself. She wrote about her hips, she wrote about her legs, and she wrote about her arms. All such features she struggled to like. Surprisingly, the need to be kind to herself became apparent only as another woman pointed it out. This woman spoke of God’s intention for us to love ourselves the way he loved us despite our measurements or flaws.

“It’s a difficult thing to stand in front of the mirror naked and tell yourself how marvelous your body is. It is contrary to every broken thing in a woman’s soul and in this broken world. But I began to do it. Not so God would change my body, f-i-n-a-l-l-y. But so that I could begin to align the way I see myself with the way he does.” Stasi Eldredge, Becoming Myself (Colorado Springs, CO: David C Cook 2013), 104.

 Alone in the bathroom from the vulnerability of her birthday suit, she began to praise God for the parts of her body she had particularly despised. As I read this story I cried. I shed tears for her and me, my daughters, and every other person who has been tormented by their self-image. She reminded herself that the arms she despised had carried her newborn children. Each part of her she didn’t like had helped her live her life, a life God had blessed.

I started to see spider veins appear on my legs on my twentieth birthday. At the time, I frowned but didn’t think much of it, but after my first child, the veins became more prominent. After two more babies, I had several patches that looked like bruises on my upper thighs. To make matters worse I struggled with my weight after each birth. Soon my clothes became more and more modest.

There is nothing wrong with dressing modestly, but I wasn’t just trying to be modest. I was hiding out of shame. Not only had my legs become embarrassing, but I loathed other parts of my physical appearance too.

 I hated my body.

When my kids went swimming I refused to change into my swimsuit. I let my husband splash and play in the pool while sat off to the side scrutinizing the other women. Why is she wearing that? Her breasts are smaller than mine, how can she look so free? So unashamed?

I might have been outwardly modest but internally I was scandalously critical. I was in bondage. I missed out on ten summers at the pool with my three oldest children. I didn’t understand why my daughters struggled with their self-images. The truth is, they grew up in my shadow.  The shadow of a mother who constantly spoke negatively about her body.

So as I read about Stasi finally making peace with her body I decided I needed to make peace too. I have mentioned my legs, but I didn’t mention my face. I hated the way my face still showed signs of the acne I struggled with for decades. It took a long time to realize gluten and dairy played a big role in the cystic acne I couldn’t seem to get rid of. 

I never left home without make-up. If I did I would somehow always get a comment about my appearance. It was always a surprise because the comments came on days when I felt good about my face. Embarrassed I vowed to never leave home without a touch-up again.

It is hard to admit I was vain and insecure. These two ingredients made my life unhappy. After the birth of my fourth child, and upon reading Stasi’s account I became desperate to be free.

 I stood in my bathroom with the door locked. My three older children watched my newborn son in another room. I toweled off my limbs and looked in the mirror. It was fogged over with steam. So I took off the towel to wipe away the condensation to view my reflection. I didn’t put on clothing. My postpartum belly looked swollen before me. I fought off the urge to hate myself yet again.

In tears, I yelled a whisper at the girl looking back at me.

 “I love you! Your legs might have spider veins but each bluish patch is a proclamation that you have borne four wonderful children. These legs are strong. You have chased your kids for miles of hide n’ seek, helped countless teenagers in youth ministry, and danced in worship to God’s delight with those legs. They are beautiful. The spider veins are birthmarks, think of them as victory tattoos. Dianne, it’s time to love your legs!”

It was a Wednesday night last Summer. I had been playing with Judah outside all day. It was one of those hot sweaty days full of laughter and water fights. I had rushed from home to the church just in time to greet the youth gathering for service. In a small group, I pulled up my folding chair to join the circle of junior high girls. The group consisted of athletes and music kids. Some came from two-parent homes while others had never known their biological fathers. To say the group was rowdy, awkward, and challenging was an understatement. 

As we went around the circle sharing prayer requests, one very outspoken girl interrupted, “Miss Dianne, what happened to your legs? What are those really ugly bruises?”

I decided to wear athletic shorts. They were not super-short but the mid-thigh variety. Still, the spider veins were obvious. For a moment the old voice scolded me, but with the young girls watching, I smiled. They needed to know the truth I had recently learned to embrace.

“Those are not bruises but birthmarks I am proud of. You see, I have four children, and with each baby, I gained some new spider veins. And what might look ugly to you has actually become beautiful to me.”

The girls were silent. I would be lying if I didn’t admit I felt embarrassed. My inner critic started to berate me. But just like Stasi in her article, I decided to choose kindness. If it wasn’t for my strong legs much of my life would have been altered. I am proud of the body the Lord gave me even if it isn’t flawless. I have to daily let myself off that hook. 

I am happy to be able to go to the swimming pool and feel free to get into my bathing suit. I can run and splash and act like a kid. I am not unaware of my body, but I have instead given it grace. I have learned to show myself mercy. Instead of grumbling about my appearance, I am trying to share this valuable lesson of body forgiveness and gratitude.

How about you? Have you been down on yourself lately? If asked the question: what is your favorite physical feature? How would you respond?

How you feel about yourself matters. If you answered these questions negatively perhaps it is time to take another look. Your life is a gift. From the top of your head to the tip of your toes you are a masterpiece created by God. None of us were meant to be perfect by human standards. This was never God’s aim. His standards are deeper and purer. His design intends to bring out the wonder of uniqueness in each of his creations. 

The psalmist speaks of embracing such truth, “Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous-how well I know it.” Psalm 139:14 NLT

I invite you to embrace the person standing in the mirror. Together we can allow God to help us love ourselves the way He loves us.