Me and My Body: Through Thick and Thin

I did everything right.
I exercised. I ate well. I tracked my cycles. I trusted my body.

So when she didn’t get pregnant, month after month, I took it personally.

The past seven years (almost eight—but who’s counting), my body has been on a mission, trying with all its might to conceive. It’s what we as women do without a second thought, right? It’s what our bodies are supposed to do! And even though it was not my main drive in life, I always knew I would conceive. I was strong and healthy. I took cycling classes every day. I hiked up huge mountains… the Hollywood Hills are mountains to a Midwest girl. I even found my “magic healthy happy weight”—133.4. My periods came like clockwork. I never suffered horrible cramps, and when my period arrived, I was grateful.

My mom (a health nut and fitness guru) always told me to be grateful because that meant my body was working properly. It was healthy and naturally cleansing itself. So, I was grateful. I was also excited to see how my body would morph into a house of plenty for my baby someday.

At first, it felt like my body just needed a jump-start. In fact, that is exactly what my doctor told me: “Once you conceive, your body will catch on. And the second one will be super easy.” Nothing about this seemed easy, and it got harder and harder to be grateful for Little Miss Aunt Flow showing up, uninvited… every month. I felt like a salmon swimming upstream. My period no longer meant I was healthy; it meant I was not pregnant. It meant my body wasn’t working.

My awesome, athletic body—which I had actually started to really like—was turning on me. She was becoming a real pain in the ass, with a mind of her own… not to mention how much time she demanded. Just taking the endless vitamins and herbs took up half the day!

This whole “not being able to conceive” thing was definitely not my mind’s fault. My mind was behaving beautifully, doing precisely the tasks needed to “manifest” my baby. My mind was awesome! It was meditating, chanting mantras, and reading all the books. I was doing Olympic Mental Gymnastics every day, every hour, and I was winning. I would find the answer. My body would get the message eventually and catch up.

But it did not.

What happened to my strong, capable body? I felt tired and weak, and I slept… a lot. I wasn’t me. As the years went on, I started to gain weight. They say hormones do that. It wasn’t just the hormones—it was all of it. I decided not to be so hard on my body. Honestly, I didn’t have the energy. I changed how I worked out and tried not to be so demanding. I decided not to freak out over gaining five or ten pounds. I’d ignore it because, oh well, I had enough on my plate. No pun intended.

I was trying to get pregnant, and once I did, I would need that extra weight. I wanted to be an abundant house for my little baby. I wanted them to be able to feed off my cellulite and suck up my extra fat. This was way more important than a few pounds. My body would be housing a life! The amount of time I spent being 133.4, I now spend doing everything in my power to procreate.

So, I decided I would accept this new me. My cause was worthy. As my body softened, so did my mind. The generic, endless meditations helped for a time, but they no longer resonated with me. I wanted something more specific. I went to a hypnotherapist—who also happens to be a dear friend—and she customized my meditations. I told her I wanted to believe in my body again.

I don’t know when I lost that belief, because I was never given a solid reason why this was so hard, but I did. I started seeing a Mayan massage therapist who worked with my body in a way I had never known was possible. It’s like she had the key to unlock years of physical pain and grief that my body was holding onto for dear life. I spent hours weeping on her massage table. I had good days. I had bad days.

To this day, I still don’t understand why it’s been so hard. Some things we may never know, and the hardest part is living with that. But I do know this: it’s not my body’s fault.

I started to think of my body like my best friend—my soul sister. How would I treat my best friend? Someone I deeply love and want the best for? I would tell them they are beautiful, resilient, strong, and a warrior. I would tell them to take care of their precious body. Something clicked. I wouldn’t let my body be the punching bag anymore.

I began to feel compassion for my body, for all it had been through. I started to feel protective of my body. My mama bear came out. I was becoming a mother, and even though I had no baby to show for it, I knew the journey wasn’t over. I knew there was another chapter, another step. I knew I could let my body heal and finally allow my mind to sync up.

I would also do what I knew I had to do: stop the medical journey. My body had been screaming at me for so long to rescue it. I always thought I could do anything for a few weeks to get our miracle. In fact, I proved that I could—but at what expense?

When we finally closed the chapter on the medical journey, the feeling at the end of the day—that it was my body that had to conceive—was overwhelming. It was as if a dam broke, and a deluge of water came flooding at me, over me, and around me. But it also felt undeniably good. I felt free! I wasn’t a machine anymore. My body wasn’t a science experiment with a big question mark hanging over it. I was liberated from the never-ending, rigid mindset that everything I did affected my fertility. My body was mine.

Around the same time, I lost twenty-five pounds rather rapidly. I had a severe tooth infection that went undiagnosed and led to the double whammy of severe TMJ. It was incredibly painful to eat. Overnight, I was back to 133.4 Jen. At first, I felt sad. The baby dream is gone. I didn’t want to be my “skinny” version.

But then I realized the baby dream is not gone. That’s not what that weight represented. It was my “sad weight.” Not all of it—some was carefree and happy—but most of it was sad and angry. It wasn’t protecting me or nourishing me. It was just hanging around, reminding me I wasn’t pregnant. It was a burden. As it melted away, I began to feel a vitality running through my body again. Even though I lost the weight in an unsettling way, it was gone—as the cool kids say—BYEEEE.

I do feel like me again, but a different me. The scared little girl who started this grand adventure is gone. I feel fresh, as if I could reset the past seven years. I know I can’t, and honestly, I don’t want to. My relationship with my body has changed. I got to know her so intimately that I would do anything for her.

Recently, I was talking to a dear friend, and she said, “Man, your body is a rock star!” And I thought—yes. Yes, she is. She is doing what she was meant to do… heal. She can still be rather stubborn, but she has carried me through some of my hardest times. It has always been the two of us, and it always will be.

Through thick and thin, I will love my body forever