Brave

I felt brave.  Taking off my shirt to reveal my bathing suit and skin beneath.

The suit hid my stretch marks but not my hips and thighs that marked my body as unmistakeable wear from bearing two children.  The fact that I was with other moms made it worse, instead of better.  They were beautiful and thin beside the backyard pool.  Fortunately the fact that I was with my two year old daughter gave me courage.

I don't want her to grow up being afraid to go to summer camp, fearing jumping in the lake in front of the boy she likes, or slouching in shame instead of laughing with her chin back and head high while she sits in a hot tub with her girlfriends.  I don't want her to grow up being like me.

I would fight a lion for her, I tell myself.  So instead I battle my own demons of insecurity and self doubt and fear.  Even though it may seem simple, taking off that blue tunic was the bravest thing I've done since I brought those beautiful babies home with me.

"I like your bathing suit" my kind hostess said.  "Thank you" I replied, and slunk in the icy water with my daughter clinging to my side and the sun hot on my hair.  She had no idea what this simple act in her backyard symbolized: My commitment to raising my daughter to be beautiful in her own skin and to be brave...just like her mom.

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#FiveMinuteFriday
This brave act took a lot of prayer to come to.  My honest journey is here on my blog about Why Being Fat Makes me Cry.

5 Minute Friday confession- I was halfway through my last paragraph when my iPhone buzzed, so this was more of a 6 Minute Friday.  Phew.  It's been said.