Every day, the female body is exposed to more and more judgment from society. Social media feeds are full of unrealistic photos that can really make someone feel uncomfortable in their own skin. For women with postpartum bodies, this topic can be the most sensitive. To support others, this proud mother decided to stop hiding behind filters or pieces of clothing and embrace the flaws that truly make us special.
Most mothers aren’t prepared for the challenges that come after childbirth.
Danisha, a mom of 4, recently started sharing her journey about accepting her body on social media. At first, she was really ashamed and constantly tried to hide her postpartum belly, but with her last baby, she wanted a change.
“I didn’t know that I would have as much loose skin as I do now, and stretch marks. No one ever discussed it, my doctors didn’t discuss it,” the mother explained. “I didn’t know that my body just wouldn’t look the same anymore. But I want to embrace my body, and I’m happy where I’m at.”
Danisha believes a woman’s body creates miracles.
Seeing tons of celebrities and models posing with their pregnant bellies can give us the wrong image. They can make us believe that perfection can exist and that something might be wrong with our own bodies, even lowering our confidence to the point that we forget to love ourselves.
In one of her Instagram posts, she pointed out to other moms that they are loved, saying, “Don’t let society trick you into believing you need to be ’fixed.’ Your body is not wrong, society is!”
Society expects a different image of the female postpartum body.
Women are expected to quickly bounce back to their pre-pregnancy bodies. For many mothers, this can feel like they’re strangers in their own their skin. Fighting against your body means losing the battle in the end, but knowing how to accept it and start loving yourself from all angles is a different type of pure love that can only occur if the mother is 100% ready to do it.
The brutal honesty behind Danisha’s posts makes her even prouder of who she is. “Our body is meant to evolve and change, that is what happens with growth, not everyone’s body will change the same and that’s okay,” she admitted. “My wonderful body carried 4 beautiful blessings, my belly is a reminder of that and signifies growth. It has taken me a long time to accept her, love her, and appreciate her.”
Despite the negative comments that come from everywhere, knowing how to keep your positivity is one of the hardest jobs that people face when they show themselves at their most vulnerable online.
“I have a pouch, I have soft stretchy loose skin. My physical features are not what makes it beautiful, but the fact that my body was able to create life itself for a fourth time. I’m strong as a mother.”
Danisha doesn’t let the negative comments stop her. Showing the raw reality behind a mom’s body is a huge help for other mothers out there as well. “A lot of mamas are unprepared for postpartum.”
It’s a privilege to watch our bodies change as we grow older.
Sometimes, despite all our efforts and hard work to keep our bodies in shape, genetics can get involved and create a different person in the mirror. She explained, “I love it when people tell me that if I had moisturized my skin more then my belly wouldn’t have looked ’this way’ or if I wore a waist trainer I wouldn’t have a pouch and even greater if I dieted or exercised more, then my belly wouldn’t be as ’big.’”
The mother of 4 continued, “The reality is genetics play a big role. My belly is this way because of 4 reasons. I created life 4 times and no oils or creams would have miraculously prevented it. My sagging skin, stretch marks, and other love marks are reminders of bearing my children.”
Every mother is special in her own way and no one deserves to be discriminated against because of their appearance.
“To the mama looking at herself in the mirror: It’s completely normal not to fit into your pre-pregnancy clothes your body outgrew in order to make room for your beautiful blessing. Sizing up is nothing to feel ashamed of,” Danisha declared.
It wasn’t easy, but Danisha started accepting her body.
Understanding how to love stretch marks and accept body changes can be one of the hardest steps that a mom can do. They are a natural response from the body.
“Many would love to have tiger stripes. You can also have them without having children. My tummy was home to 4 of my children, and they love it,” she said.
Beauty comes from both inside and outside.
Regardless of what we look like on the outside, whether we differ in skin color or weight, all people are special in their own way, and our bodies do an amazing job at keeping us alive. In an effort to encourage others around her, this mother points out, “Whether you choose to cover your belly or not, you’re still worthy, still beautiful.”
Here are some similar stories that show us the beauty in every woman’s body.
A Mom of 4 Proudly Documents Her Postpartum Body and Becomes the Dose of Body Positivity We All Need
A Mother Was Told Her Stomach Was “Nasty,” but She Proves How Beautiful Women’s Bodies Really Are
9 Times Ashley Graham Embraced Her Motherhood Journey, From a Postpartum Body to Breastfeeding
8 Celebrity Moms Who Got Honest and Showed Us the Raw Reality of Motherhood
Preview photo credit mama3x__ / Instagram, mama3x__ / Instagram
I Returned Home to Discover My Kids Asleep in the Hallway — The Transformation My Husband Made to Their Bedroom in My Absence Drove Me Wild
After a week away, I came home to the strange and unsettling sight of my kids sleeping on the cold hallway floor. Heart pounding, I searched for answers, only to find my husband missing and odd noises coming from the kids’ room. What I uncovered next left me furious — and ready for a fight!
I’d been away on a business trip for a week, and let me tell you, I was itching to get home. My boys, Tommy and Alex, were probably bouncing off the walls waiting for me.
I mean, a week is practically forever when you’re 6 and 8. And Mark? Well, I figured he’d be glad to hand the reins back to me. He’s a great dad, don’t get me wrong, but he’s always been more of the fun parent than the responsible one.
As I pulled into our driveway at midnight, I couldn’t help but grin. The house was dark and quiet, just as it should be at this ungodly hour.
I grabbed my suitcase and tiptoed to the front door, keys jingling softly in my hand.
The lock clicked open, and I stepped inside, ready to collapse into bed. But something was… wrong.
My foot hit something soft, and I froze. Heart pounding, I fumbled for the light switch. When the hall lit up, I almost screamed.
Tommy and Alex were sprawled out on the floor, tangled up in blankets like a couple of puppies. They were fast asleep, but their faces were smudged with dirt, and their hair was sticking up in all directions.
“What the hell?” I whispered, my mind racing. Had there been a fire? A gas leak? Why weren’t they in their beds?
I crept past them, afraid to wake them up until I knew what was going on. The living room was a disaster zone, littered with pizza boxes, soda cans, and what looked suspiciously like melted ice cream on the coffee table. But no sign of Mark.
My heart was doing the cha-cha in my chest as I made my way to our bedroom. Empty.
The bed was still made, like it hadn’t been slept in today. Mark’s car was in the driveway, so where was he?
That’s when I heard it. A faint, muffled sound coming from the boys’ room. I tiptoed over, my imagination running wild. Was Mark hurt? Had some psycho broken in and tied him up?
I pushed the door open, inch by inch, and…
“What. The. Actual—” I bit my tongue, remembering the kids were just down the hall.
There was Mark, headphones on, controller in hand, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and snack wrappers. But that wasn’t even the craziest part.
The boys’ room had been transformed into some kind of gamer paradise. A massive TV took up one wall, there were LED lights everywhere, and I’m pretty sure that monstrosity in the corner was a mini-fridge.
I stood there, mouth hanging open, as the rage built up inside me like a volcano about to blow. Mark hadn’t even noticed me yet, too engrossed in whatever game he was playing.
I stomped over and yanked the headphones off his head. “Mark! What the hell is going on?”
He blinked at me, looking dazed. “Oh, hey babe. You’re home early.”
“Early? It’s midnight! Why are our children sleeping on the floor?”
He shrugged, reaching for his controller again. “Oh, it’s fine. The boys were happy sleeping outside. They thought it was an adventure.”
I snatched the controller away. “An adventure? They’re not camping, Mark! They’re sleeping on our dirty hallway floor!”
“Come on, don’t be such a buzzkill,” he said, trying to grab the controller back. “Everything’s under control. I’ve been feeding them and stuff.”
“Feeding them? You mean the pizza boxes and ice cream in the living room?” I could feel my blood pressure rising with every word. “And what about baths? Or, I don’t know, their actual beds?”
Mark rolled his eyes. “They’re fine, Sarah. Lighten up a bit.”
That’s when I lost it.
“Lighten up? LIGHTEN UP? Our children are sleeping on the floor like animals while you play video games in their room! What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he huffed. “I’m just trying to have a little me-time. Is that so terrible?”
I took a deep breath, trying not to scream. “You know what? We’re not doing this right now. Go put the boys in their beds. Now.”
“But I’m in the middle of—”
“NOW, Mark!”
He grumbled but got up, shuffling past me.
I watched him pick up Tommy, who stirred a little but didn’t wake up. As Mark carried him to bed, I couldn’t help but think how alike they looked: one actual child and the man acting like one.
I scooped up Alex, my heart breaking a little at how dirty his face was. As I tucked him into bed, I made a decision. If Mark wanted to act like a child, then that’s exactly how I’d treat him.
The next morning, I put my plan into action.
While Mark was in the shower, I snuck into the man cave he’d created and unplugged everything. Then I got to work.
When he came downstairs, hair still wet, I was waiting for him with a big smile. “Good morning, sweetie! I made you breakfast!”
He looked at me suspiciously. “Uh, thanks?”
I set a plate in front of him. In the middle was a Mickey Mouse-shaped pancake with a smiley face made of fruit. His coffee was in a sippy cup.
“What’s this?” he asked, poking at the pancake.
“It’s your breakfast, silly! Now eat up, we have a big day ahead of us!”
After breakfast, I unveiled my masterpiece, a giant, colorful chore chart plastered on the fridge. “Look what I made for you!”
Mark’s eyes widened. “What the hell is that?”
“Language!” I scolded. “It’s your very own chore chart! See? You can earn gold stars for cleaning your room, doing the dishes, and putting away your toys!”
“My toys? Sarah, what are you—”
I cut him off. “Oh, and don’t forget! We have a new house rule. All screens off by 9 p.m. sharp. That includes your phone, mister!”
Mark’s face went from confused to angry. “Are you kidding me? I’m a grown man, I don’t need—”
“Ah, ah, ah!” I wagged my finger. “No arguing, or you’ll have to go to the timeout corner!”
For the next week, I stuck to my guns. Every night at 9, I’d shut off the Wi-Fi and unplug his gaming console.
I even tucked him into bed with a glass of milk and read him “Goodnight Moon” in my most soothing voice.
His meals were served on plastic plates with little dividers. I cut his sandwiches into dinosaur shapes and gave him animal crackers for snacks. When he complained, I’d say things like, “Use your words, honey. Big boys don’t whine.”
The chore chart was a particular point of contention. Every time he completed a task, I’d make a big show of giving him a gold star.
“Look at you, putting your laundry away all by yourself! Mommy’s so proud!”
He’d grit his teeth and mutter, “I’m not a child, Sarah.”
To which I’d reply, “Of course not, sweetie. Now, who wants to help make cookies?”
The breaking point came about a week into my little experiment. Mark had just been sent to the timeout corner for throwing a fit about his two-hour screen time limit. He sat there, fuming, while I calmly set the kitchen timer.
“This is ridiculous!” he exploded. “I’m a grown man, for God’s sake!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you sure about that? Because grown men don’t make their children sleep on the floor so they can play video games all night.”
He deflated a little. “Okay, okay, I get it! I’m sorry!”
I studied him for a moment. He did look genuinely remorseful, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook when I had one last blow to deliver.
“Oh, I accept your apology,” I said sweetly. “But I’ve already called your mom…”
The color drained from his face. “You didn’t.”
Right on cue, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to reveal Mark’s mother, looking every bit the disappointed parent.
“Mark!” she bellowed, marching into the house. “Did you really make my sweeties sleep on the floor so you could play your little games?”
Mark looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “Mom, it’s not… I mean, I didn’t…”
She turned to me, her face softening. “Sarah, dear, I’m so sorry you had to deal with this. I thought I raised him better than that.”
I patted her arm. “It’s not your fault, Linda. Some boys just take longer to grow up than others.”
Mark’s face was beet red. “Mom, please. I’m 35 years old!”
Linda ignored him, turning back to me. “Well, not to worry. I’ve cleared my schedule for the next week. I’ll whip this boy back into shape in no time!”
As Linda bustled off to the kitchen, muttering about the state of the dishes, I caught Mark’s eye. He looked utterly defeated.
“Sarah,” he said quietly. “I really am sorry. I was selfish and irresponsible. It won’t happen again.”
I softened a little. “I know, honey. But when I’m away, I need to know you’ve got things under control. The boys need a father, not another playmate.”
He nodded, looking ashamed. “You’re right. I’ll do better, I promise.”
I smiled and gave him a quick kiss. “I know you will. Now, why don’t you go help your mother with the dishes? If you do a good job, maybe we can have ice cream for dessert.”
As Mark trudged off to the kitchen, I couldn’t help but feel a little smug. Lesson learned, I hoped. And if not… well, I still had that timeout corner ready and waiting.
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