Words & Photography
by
Caroline Snider
It started when I was pregnant, it slipped in gently with the curve of my stomach and hasn’t left since. That small voice that tells me to hide myself away. That nagging ache that my body, my being was no longer meant for pleasure, neither mine nor anybody else’s. But was instead perfunctory, unimportant, something somehow lessened and to be apologized for. The idea that somehow I was now just a person standing in the shadows behind another. A life lived for others. A body that no longer belonged to me.
It started when I was pregnant, it slipped in gently with the curve of my stomach and hasn’t left since. That small voice that tells me to hide myself away. That nagging ache that my body, my being was no longer meant for pleasure, neither mine nor anybody else’s.
I struggled to see the beauty in it all, not because I am vain, but because I am human. Not because I wanted reassurance but because I felt it, painfully, deep within.
Each day since my body birthed new life into this world this feeling has grown nastier, gripping its hateful fingers into the depths of me. But most days my joy in mothering is louder. Most days there is too much laundry to notice just how mean the voice has gotten. Most days there’s no need to stop and look at my reflection at all. Most days the world calls upon me to be the person behind the other person. Not today.
Today, in this beautiful moment in time, when there is so much to be grateful for. When our days are dripping in such incredible joy they barely seem real, the noise from this self-hatred is, at times, deafening. The paper thin skin at the edges of a swimsuit, stretched and deflated from the swell of creating life. The dark rims surrounding eyes that feel like they’ve been waiting two years for a good night sleep. An auto immune condition that causes me to limp more like an old woman than a woman in her prime. It feels unbearable to stand alone, without a babe in my arms and ask the world to see me, just me alone.
I don’t know what that looks like. The path to self love. The discovery of a new self. The ability to catch people’s gaze when I speak. The idea that I am worthy. But I know I want to be there...
There isn’t a conclusion to these words. No neat bow to be tied around them. They are not a call for sympathy, or a cry for help. I can see all too clearly in the glare of my reflection this can only be fixed by me. I don’t know what that looks like. The path to self love. The discovery of a new self. The ability to catch people’s gaze when I speak. The idea that I am worthy. But I know I want to be there, because I know I want to hear him tell me I’m beautiful and believe it.
