My Gut, And Why I'm Keeping Her

“Mom, are you going to have another baby?” my young son innocently wonders as we sit together on the couch, reading Harry Potter. I pause and try to make sense of his, seemingly out of the blue, question. Glancing down, I see him eyeing my midsection. I see what he sees, my abdominal rolls silhouetted by the ribbed tank top.

At one time, comments like my son’s would have sent me into the next room to do sit ups, out on a high mile run, or had me contemplating my complex relationship with ice cream. At one time, I would have chosen looser fitting tops, covered my midsection with a pillow while sitting on a couch, or worked to remember to stay seated upright, sucking in my abs. 

My abdomen, my stomach, my tummy, my belly, my GUT was constantly on my mind. Especially after having my fourth child at 39.

At one time, for many years, even decades, I did that thing our culture tells us to do about our bodies. I laid sacrifices at the altar of the flat belly in the form of skipped meals, punishing workouts, and contouring undergarments. And when I couldn’t do those things, I thought about doing those things while carrying the mantle of guilt, shame, and loss. 

Because feelings of guilt, shame, and loss are easier than admitting “I give up”. 

Whatever, you do, sister, DON’T GIVE UP. Don’t let yourself go. You can rest for a sec, but only in self-loathing, and tomorrow, you must start again with the trying.

And then one day. 

No wait. 

That’s not right.

Over a series of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years something came to me. 

I had a choice. I could keep doing the “right” things:  tracking calories, interrupting my hard-won sleep for strenuous workouts, checking into hormone injections, commiserating with girlfriends about how much we hated our bodies, and chasing after “fixes” such as herbal adaptogens. 

Or, I could walk away from all that bullsh*t.

“She’s obviously given up”, is a common critique on the aging, changing, shifting female body.

But, here’s the thing. Deciding to take a stand against the high beauty standards placed on the female form does not feel like giving up. It feels like a big deal. It feels like a lot of work. It feels scary. It feels like stepping away from safety. It feels like letting go of a life-line (even though the line was a chain that kept us in prison). By not playing by the rules of our culture’s beauty standards, we feel like we are risking everything. 

When I decided to stop tracking my macros, when I made a commitment to take a connected-eating approach to the work I do with clients, I didn’t feel like I was giving up. Ever. I felt like I was showing up to my life and I felt like, finally, I’m doing the right thing. The REAL right thing by my clients.

Walking away from the rules of diets and the “do’s and don’ts” of eating takes determination. Taking a leap of faith and actually listening for, trusting in, and responding to hunger cues takes courage. Changing the narrative around clothing sizes or numbers on the scale as the only measures of success and health takes pause and discernment. Caring for your body as it is today requires fortitude. Becoming a respected, relevant woman in this society takes tenacity and commitment. 

This work takes GUTS. 

So, ladies and female-identifying friends, instead of making the focus about getting rid of our guts, let’s keep our guts. We’re going to need them.