Ep. 141 || Body After Baby: Moms Share How The Gospel Changes Their Perspective Transcript
This transcript is made possible by our generous donors. Learn how you can join them. This transcript has been edited for clarity.
Welcome back to another episode of Risen Motherhood! I’m Emily, and I’m excited to share a little bit about today’s special show. Laura and I have personally experienced the many changes that motherhood brings for our bodies, and we’ve had to grapple with them in light of all that God’s word says about our identity and purpose. Since many of you have heard us talk about this on the show before or you’ve read the chapter I wrote on postpartum body image in the Risen Motherhood book, we thought it was time to invite some other friends to share what they’ve learned about this topic. Stay tuned as Andrea Burke, Jill Atogwe, Maggie Combs, Ruth Simons, and Betzy Gomez share vulnerable stories of God’s work in their hearts in the area of body image. If you enjoy this episode or any of the many others we’ve produced, please consider leaving us a rating and review on iTunes. Laura and I read and appreciate them all. We love hearing stories about how God has used this podcast and the whole Risen Motherhood ministry to help you understand and apply the gospel.
Before we jump in, We’d love quickly introduce these ladies to you. We know this is going to go fast, so if you want to find anything we mention here, we’ll list additional information on our show notes in the order each person shared.
Andrea Burke is the Director of Women's Ministry at Grace Road Church in Rochester, NY. She writes and teaches regularly for women and also lends a voice to cultural issues by co-hosting The Good Enough Podcast.
Jill Atogwe, is the gal behind the popular lifestyle blog, Gold & Graphite. Jill is also an artist and budding writer.
Maggie Combs is a book lover, writing mentor, and author of Unsupermommy.
Ruth Simons is a bestselling author, entrepreneur, speaker, artist, and the owner of Gracelaced. She’s also a Risen Motherhood board member.
Betsy Gómez is a writer and a speaker who hosts a podcast for Spanish Speaking women and is the creative director for Revive Our Hearts Spanish Outreach.
Okay, let’s jump into today’s show and hear these encouraging words from our friends.
Andrea Burke: I remember I was around 7 months pregnant with my second child, and I had gained a lot of weight. I knew it was going to take me forever to lose. I’d had a c-section with my first child, and I wasn’t able to lose all the weight until she was in kindergarten. I always joke that my body is like a peasant woman in Ireland in the 1700s; it assumes famine is about to occur, so we better just save everything. Pregnancy is no exception to this.
So, I was already very pregnant with my second child and anticipating a long road ahead. I was feeling very defeated. I was honestly really jealous of my friends who seemed able to just drop the weight after having babies. I was a mess about it. I cried to my husband, and I remember crying and looking in the mirror, asking, “How could you ever be attracted to me? How could I ever possibly be beautiful to you?” I waited for his typical, “No, babe! You’re fine. I love you!” But this time he just sighed and said very gentle, “Babe? When we can stop having this conversation?” It kind of floored me. He was like, “Our bodies are going to fail us. They’re going to grow old and sag, and not measure up to the world’s standards of beauty anymore. At some point, we have to build this marriage on something more than just attraction and beauty.” It was, woah, so humbling for me.
It made me think of Psalm 103:13-17: As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame, he remembers we are dust. As for man, his days are like grass. He flourishes like a flower of the field. For like the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and it’s place knows it no more. But the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting for those who fear him. And his righteousness to children’s children.” Man, that just takes my breath away. And it’s been something I’ve returned to for the last three years since my second child was born. With every extra pound and every pants size that feels so discouraging, I remember that conversation with my husband and Psalm 103. We are dust. These bodies will fail us. They will hold onto extra pounds. They will sag. They will get weary. And the Lord knows this; he remembers our frame. His promise isn’t that our bodies will be everything we hope for. His promise is that his steadfast love will endure. His faithfulness stays to us and our children and our children’s children. So my kids won’t remember the size of my pants. And eventually, my body is going to continue to wear out and be weary. I’ll be done with ability to bear children. I’m dust headed back to dust. My body has failed a lot of my earthly expectations and dreams, and yet, the steadfast love of the Lord endures.
Jill Atogwe: My body before my first pregnancy was strong. It was chiseled and toned from years of playing sports, college volleyball, and training with my husband for fun.
My first pregnancy made me softer, but I still looked like an athlete. On my son’s first birthday, I found out I was 5 weeks pregnant with our daughter. My body didn’t have much time to recover and that second pregnancy did a number on me. I was so ill. I hardly exercised at all. I got awful varicose veins that left me in bed elevating my leg for a good chunk of each day. By the time we moved to Texas during my 34th week of pregnancy, I had to wear full-on compression tights every day. Let me just add that it was July.
My daughter was born in early Fall and, determined to make up for lost time, I started a strict diet 2 weeks postpartum. The following week, I committed myself to a workout plan.
One day, as I helped my 22 month old on the potty while nursing my 2 month old, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. It was the first time I really looked at myself with both of them. One hand helping him; the other holding her. Sure, my face wasn’t swollen anymore, but I didn’t look like myself. I looked sad. Sad and so, so tired. The weight was coming off, but at what cost?
It was through that exhaustion and depletion I realized I had an idol on my hands.
Through the process of growing, nursing and caring for these babies I finally surrendered this body I’ve been given and shifted my mindset. It wasn’t made as a symbol to represent how many hours I spend in the gym. It’s purpose isn’t to have people look at me and say “Wow, congratulations on your gene pool!”
This body was created to glorify God.
The abdominal separation that won’t come back together and left a nice little pooch behind is a reminder that there were babies in there. It was a home for 38 weeks, 39 weeks, and 12 weeks until that baby went to be with Jesus. Praise God for what that excess skin represents. (And also for high waisted pants.)
My right leg looks like a wind-y road filled with swollen, twisting veins. Purple and green fireworks start at my ankle and carry all the way up. But those legs allowed me to bounce my baby for countless hours through that first year. Glory be to God.
How sacred are those moments when our babies are first laid in our arms? After all of the laboring, all of the pushing, my thought is never on what a great job I did. There is an immediate sense of overwhelm and awe of God’s glory and goodness. That, right there, is a picture of our bodies as mothers. 1 Corinthians 6:19 says, “Do you not know your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own.”
We are not our own.
Lord willing, I’m not done having babies yet. I pray the next time around I rest in the grace of self-forgetfulness. We live in a fallen world. I notice more stretch marks and veins every day. And while one day we’ll all be free of these postpartum bodies, in the meantime I’ve made it my mission to view this body as a vessel to serve.
Maggie Combs: As a person who is naturally petite, I spent my whole life taking for granted that things would fit and be flattering. And then I had my first baby. It wasn’t just my saggy tummy that surprised me. I found my shoulders, hips, and feet all got wider and I needed new jackets and shoes and even underwear. It felt so defeating. With each subsequent pregnancy, I found that I liked my body less. And the culture tells us to own it, because we own our bodies. And if we own these bodies, there are two choices: despise them or embrace them. But we keep falling back into despising them. Embracing them just isn’t enough.
The problem is the entire premise is wrong. We don’t own these bodies, they were bought with a price by the work of Jesus. And there’s God the Father, who lovingly knit these bodies together inside the bodies of our mothers. And the Holy Spirit, who takes up residency and lives inside these imperfect frames to minister the truth of God to us. Our God, three in one, the Holy Trinity, involved every person of himself in the creation and care of these bodies. So are they our own? No, they belong to God. Instead of despising a work of God, we should steward them. Instead of ignoring their weaknesses, we should allow God to show his glory through these jars of clay. We should care for and respect our bodies as our earthly tool for working in God’s kingdom. First Corinthians 6:19-20 says, “Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.”
Mommies, may we steward these imperfect vessels to demonstrate our perfect God's glory to the world around us.
Ruth Simons: I’m a mom of six boys. My oldest is 17, and my youngest is six. And yes, I really did birth them one at a time. It’s even funny for me to think about it. Yes, I was pregnant six separate times with boys! So for about a decade of life, I was either pregnant or nursing, changing diapers or falling asleep while reading bedtime stories. That was a crazy, long decade. I’m well acquainted with how our bodies are affected and changed through pregnancy and motherhood. The first few times postpartum, I saw the weight come off a bit easier with nursing and long walks with friends, chatting and pushing our strollers. But as you know, life has a way of pushing leisure and times like that out. As the years went on, I was doing well with little to simply get dinner on the table and make it through the day of disciplining and discipling and training up multiple children. I wasn’t hitting the gym everyday—or at all. I gained about forty or fifty pounds with each pregnancy, and now in my 40s, I’ve certainly held on to about 10-15 of those pounds. There’s excess skin and fat around my midsection. I hide it well; I try. There are stretchmarks all over my waist and thighs. And breastfeeding for over a decade will certainly change your shape as well. I can feel self-conscious in a swimsuit if I focus on the way my body is no longer fit, or tight, or balanced, if I’m honest. I can even get caught up in pants size and bemoan not being the woman I once was before all the pregnancies. But I’ve really come to recognize that the root of those feelings is my own pride; and the antidote is truly gratitude and having an eternal perspective.
So when I apply the truth of the gospel to an ordinary part of my life, like the way I feel about my body and how I see myself, I begin to see how much I need to practice rehearsing the truth of my identity in Christ rather than the truth of the temporal realities of my earthly circumstances. Because of the good news of the gospel, my hope isn’t in this body or this moment of time. I’m living for a new heaven and a new earth, a fully redeemed body, where there will be no more pain, brokenness, or sadness. Will there be scars or stretch marks? I don’t think it’ll really matter. We know in I John 3:2: “Beloved, we are God’s children now. What we will be has not yet appeared, but we know that when he appears, we shall be like him. Because we shall see him as he is.” Or what about 1 Corinthians 15:52: “In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet, for the trumpet will sound and the dead will be raised imperishable. And we shall be changed.” Our bodies are for our stewardship, friends. The mercy and blessing of having a cost to surrender and sacrifice is it reminds me and drives me to worship the Savior who paid the ultimate price with the sinless body and life.
My physical discomforts and the discomforts to my pride when I don’t look or feel the way I want to serves to keep me tethered to the hope of Christ, not leaning on my own strength or sense of identity—but on him and what he says is true about who I am in Christ. We need to do that everyday. Motherhood is sanctifying, because it’s a daily reminder that everything that doesn’t come easily, that stretches our patience, that feels too much to bear in motherhood—Do you feel those things?—serve to lovingly shape us. God uses them to shape us into the likeness of Christ.
My postpartum body and all the changes that come with age, they do the same. They remind me that there’s no clinging or hoping in what my flesh can offer. My hope today—all the hope I want for today—must be in Christ and in the life to come.
Betsy Gómez: I am pregnant for the sixth time. I had two boys, three miscarriages, and now a girl on her third trimester. Another C-section is on the horizon, as is a slow recovery and a body that will try to catch up with the massive changes of delivering a baby.
I anticipate that soon I’ll be dealing with the reality of having a postpartum body. As a way to remind myself of the truth that I can easily forget, I listed some truths about how the gospel changes my view of my post-baby body.
As women, we’re exposed to so much pressure about our body image. When it gets to the topic of postpartum, the comparison is crazy. We’re saturated with lies about ourselves and motherhood! These lies are not only in social media or tv, they’re in our hearts. Lies like, “Claim your body back!” or, “Don’t let this baby ruin your life.”
It’s so easy for us as women to see ourselves in the mirror and to compare what we see with what the world states is beautiful.
So, first of all, the gospel frees me from the tiring task of using the way I look to get people’s attention. It breaks the idolatry to my figure: the tendency of placing my identity in the way I look. The gospel reminds me that my body is not my own. I was bought by the one who laid his body on the cross, so I can serve him with my body.
Second, the gospel frees me from the slavery that comes from using my body to serve myself. The gospel invites me to use my body to serve others. My scars and the pounds that are hard to lose is a reminder that I am a life-giver by dying to myself. Every time I’m tempted to feel ashamed of what I see in the mirror, I need to turn my face and look to another mirror: the Word of God that shows me the One who was not ashamed of bearing my sin and giving me life, even in the moment when no one found him attractive.
Third, the gospel frees me from being controlled with the changing emotions of my postpartum body. The gospel reminds me that I’m not defined by what I feel, but by the complete work of Christ on my behalf. My hormones might make me feel like I’m in a rollercoaster, but the Word of God is a sure foundation to hold fast in the midst of my confusion. The gospel gives me a solid foundation for my identity to be placed. My feelings are not God; they can be submitted to the truth.
Fourth, the gospel beautifies the scars that the world wants me to hide. I love my babies but if I am honest, sometimes I would do anything to erase all the toil and the visible evidence of the life-giving privilege I have as a woman. I would love to get rid of my C-section scar or my stretch marks. But when I’m reminded that Jesus, even in his glorified body, didn’t get rid of his scars, then my scars take another meaning. Those scars are beautiful, because they are reminders of God’s grace upon me. God fearfully and wonderfully formed one of his image-bearers inside me, and it is beautiful to be reminded of that.
Fifth, the gospel promises me a new body. Every time I see myself in the mirror and notice how my pregnancy and childbearing has changed me, I need to remember about my Savior’s body. He was crushed until the point of death to give me life. Eternal life. Every scar, every mark is a reminder of those scars that gave me a living hope: one day I will be transformed and given a glorified body. That’s all the hope I need.