On social media, postpartum bodies and putting yourself out there

I have a love hate relationship with social media, as I’m sure many of you do.

Instagram has been a perilous place for years, but now my feed is filled with suggested posts for workouts, diets and treatments promising to help me “get my body back” post baby. Though I could simply close the gram, there are hours of breastfeeding to be filled, I’m trying to avoid doom scrolling, and focusing on books or word puzzles is difficult given my current postpartum lack of concentration. Plus, Instagram remains where the peeps are, and a necessary platform for engaging with my elder-millennial peers and Meal Better’s audience. Still, I’ve been wary of putting myself out there -- though I’ve come to realize people want a person behind their inspo. 

But, reels are a real thing. While shooting a recipe the other day, all I could think about was how many chins I appear to have, how my right super-producing boob appears/is significantly larger than the left, and that perhaps I should wear a more supportive bra. I try to do things to maintain a semblance of self: my hair is generally clean, my bed is made, I’m easing back into movement, and I get dressed intentionally everyday (sweats and loungewear count!) - even if I'm instantly - and constantly -  covered in breast milk. But, this period is hard, and I haven’t accepted that things may never look the same.

I'm turning 40 soon, and excited to welcome a new era. My 30s began uneasily: my first marriage crumbled and I left the city I'd called home for all adulthood. I had to rebuild my life, and redefine my relationship with my family. I made many, many mistakes with men. But now, a decade later, I'm settled, with two beautiful girls and an amazing community, and I want to commemorate that with tacos and bevvies. But at the same time, I want to appear as I did when I turned 30, even if she was riddled with the remnants of disordered eating, hadn’t birthed life, and was the product of grief. 

Like many of you, I've spent my life navigating my relationship with food and body image. From coming of age during the heroin chic aesthetic (why was that ever a thing?) to getting comments about bodies and diets from our boomer mothers, and through college, where eating disorders ran rampant. In my 20s, I somewhat redefined my relationship with food when I started cooking for myself and was diagnosed with a chronic illness. And honestly, it got old - the constant accounting of calories and monitoring of every meal.  

Now, I try to monitor my meals in a different way: by gauging whether they provide nourishment, be it social, physical, or mental. I try to nourish both myself and my baby by eating well rounded, balanced meals. But, even though preparing balanced meals is literally my job, it’s still legit hard to do for yourself - let alone your family -  day in and day out (forever) when you're trying to convince little ones they do, in fact, need shoes for school. And, numbers and calories do  inevitably creep in while I’m eating. Somehow, there’s a fine line between radical self acceptance and self loathing.

I don’t have a conclusion to this piece, but wanted to share my current experience with food and eating, since that’s the point of Meal Better - to have a gathering space for the daily task of feeding ourselves and others. I’m going to try and show up more often - both on this site and online - to best tell our story. as always - I hope you’ll join me.