How to Love Your Body After Sexual Abuse

This morning I turned the shower on still half-asleep from the 2 a.m. nursing sessions with my son.

Usually I don’t think twice and just jump right in. Except this time my naked body reflection in the mirror stopped me.

I heard my inner voice say, “Stop and look at your body". I immediately felt shame to look at myself naked.

A shame I’ve carried since I was thirteen and nearly molested several times by my father.

A shame for not having the “perfect" body 12 weeks postpartum.

I am afraid to acknowledge the sexiness of my breasts or the curves of my butt. The pearl porcelain skin I have.

But this time I ignored all the shame. Because it is all lies.

And just stared at my body

I gazed at the shadow of my linea negra down my stomach I have from pregnancy.

The plumpness of my breasts from nursing. The shape of my ass from squats and lifting.

I started to admire and respect the body I have even for a few seconds. I praised myself for the work its put in. For the beauty it carries.

And for its womanhood.

My womanhood was taken from me at thirteen. My father stole it and blamed me for it.