Body Talk
Reflections from 28 weeks
Hello, friends,
I’ve been thinking about how we talk about bodies, especially pregnant ones. Below is a piece that shares a few of the million thoughts and feelings I’ve had as people have commented more and more on my pregnant body. It is fascinating to me - both the things people say, and my felt response. I hope you enjoy reading.
As always, if you’re here for the yoga-news, scroll to the bottom, and you’ll see some colorful banners to click on (the summary: backyard yoga, yoga foundations, and of course, the fall retreat).
Love,
Abby
Body Talk
People tell me I’ll have no trouble - that my body will bounce back.
I haven’t even had the baby yet.
Someone I love even told me not to worry - that I’d have no trouble losing the weight I gain during pregnancy.
I had not said that I was worried.
When a woman at the gym saw I was pregnant, she told me that she herself had gained far more weight than her doctor recommended, but that it all worked out because then she lost it all right away - she was sure I would be fine!
I had not inquired about her pregnancy, nor had I asked how she thought mine would be.
At 20 weeks, I was shopping in my running clothes when a man stopped me to ask, “Excuse me ma’am, but I have to ask: How do you run with that baby inside you!?” When I told him, too politely, that I had been running regularly since middle school he said, “But what does your doctor say?”
Some people told me early on that they couldn’t even tell I was pregnant, that I was “so tiny!” Then, sometime around 24 weeks, people were shocked to learn that I wasn’t more pregnant. At five months, my dentist said I looked eight.
Another woman told me, with a wink, that I must be so excited to be having a boy - she could tell because I was carrying so low, she said.
Then there was the music festival where it seemed like everyone who saw me wanted to tell me how cute I was, how radiant!, and what a sweet thing I was doing for my unborn child, bringing them with me to see my favorite music, taking them dancing…
And then, somewhere underneath and alongside and woven through all of this, there’s how I’m feeling. People ask me all the time, almost urgently, but I rarely feel prepared to answer.
I could say:
Hot.
Tired.
Surprisingly mobile.
Energetic.
Annoyed.
Anxious.
Excited!
Always crying.
Impatient.
Hungry…
But it always feels like too much, or too simple, or too complicated, so I usually just respond, “Pretty good!” and then say something about how pregnancy is quite the wild ride…
My therapist always encourages me to make more room for feeling, and spend less energy planning. Planning is necessary sometimes, she agrees, but too much of it distracts, pulls me out of the present, and sends me into anxiety. I know she’s right.
The thing is, it’s hard to make time to just feel when people keep asking me to explain how I feel. Feeling is, by nature, nonverbal, unintellectual, body-based. I do not blame anyone for asking; I only wish I did not feel such pressure to answer with words.
I believe that most people who have commented on my body or asked how I feel are simply trying to connect, and that they actually do care. I appreciate this. I also believe that many people who have commented on my future, inquired about my health, hypothesized on what my body will do or not do, or on what my baby will be like, are trying to soothe some part of them - it is not about me at all. They, like me, are planning, thinking, problem-solving.
By telling me that my body will bounce back, they are looking into the future - a future that they have invented. By assuring me that I should not worry, that I will be fine!, I cannot help but worry. And the irony is, it is not my body that I am worried about; it is their judgment of it. Judgment that I was not thinking about until they told me they were thinking about it. Judgment of their own bodies, via their judgment of mine. Judgment that they have internalized from society, that we should be able to control our bodies, our lives, our futures, if we just have enough discipline…
I am not against discipline. But I question the intention behind some disciplines. I daresay I judge the intention.
For nearly a decade, I starved myself under the guise of animal rights and environmentalism. I was a vegetarian, a vegan, a local-foods-only eater, a cook-all-of-my-meals-no-matter-what person… I pushed my body to injury under the pretense of “heart health.” I ran half-marathons, full marathons, cycled hundreds of miles, and frequently chose the gym over sleep. It took an extreme episode of bursitis in my hip for me to pause and realize that my heart was not healthy, either; it was, in fact, deeply hurting.
It has taken years since then to rebuild trust with my body, to appreciate my genuine love for exercise, my love for cooking and vegetables, my medium feelings toward meat. I am still working on holding my tongue when people tell me about their diets, or their exercise plans. I remind myself that they can do what they want to do, just as I can do what I want to do. We do not need to judge each other in either direction.
Part of me still wants to rebel, to reject everything that lies within “wellness culture,” to scream when someone conflates “weight loss” with “health,” or blames processed foods for the rise in depression. Part of me is still swinging on this pendulum, clutching and kicking to get as far away as I can from where I was, not so many years ago. It’s the same part of me that sends my hackles up when a loved one tells me not to worry about the weight I will gain, or a stranger tells me my body will bounce back.
What I’m learning, however, is that I do not want to fight so hard. What I’m learning is that my impulse to fight is, in part, another manifestation of extremes: I judged myself so harshly, put myself through so much pain, and then, once I began my “recovery,” I started judging others for doing exactly what I used to do. I am learning that I needed to reject some things in order to create more space around myself; but this rejection and judgment is not the end of recovery. Perhaps recovery has no end.
I know that we will never stop talking about bodies. Bodies are fascinating, evolving, growing, shrinking, breaking down, regenerating, progenerating… I do not think the goal of never talking about bodies is realistic, or even helpful. I do think, however, that we could talk about them more kindly.
And more than that, I think we could remember that our bodies talk to us more than we talk about them. I think we could listen to our bodies, more patiently, to see each others’ bodies, more sweetly, and to notice the intention behind what we’re about to say. I think we could allow more space to feel before we jump to words.
I remember one of my yoga teachers once saying to a student, “I hope you will hear the prana behind my words…” In saying this, she acknowledged that her words would not be perfect, and asked up front for forgiveness, asked us to hear her intention louder than the words that used to express it.
Intention does not predict impact, and intention matters. Since I cannot know what anyone else’s intentions are, I am trying simply to notice my own. And, I am trying to notice when my body says, “No thank you; I do not want to be around this.” I am trying to give myself enough space that I can offer others grace. I am trying to offer myself that same grace when I slip up.
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