A Year Later: The End of a Chapter

This past weekend marked one year since I stopped breastfeeding. One year since I closed a chapter of motherhood I didn’t think would affect me so deeply.

It’s strange, no one really prepares you for the quiet emotions that come after something like that. You expect the sleepless nights, the engorgement, the cluster feeding. But not the sudden stillness. Not the way your body feels like it’s no longer needed in the same way. Not the identity shift that creeps in when your “baby body” is no longer serving a baby.

It’s been a year, and honestly, I don’t know what I expected my body to do. But she’s been struggling.

Postpartum Isn’t 6 Weeks - It’s a Whole Era

We’re told postpartum ends at six weeks, six weeks until you “bounce back,” six weeks until your doctor clears you, six weeks until you’re supposed to feel “normal” again.

But postpartum isn’t six weeks. It’s years of healing, shifting, and trying to recognize the woman staring back at you in the mirror.

Because here’s my truth: I struggle with the physical appearance of my body daily. The loose skin that folds when I sit down. The sagging breasts that once fed three babies. The hormonal breakouts that make me feel sixteen again. The gut issues that never went away. The periods that knock me flat. The eight pounds that cling like they own the place.

And the frustration of it all, the comparison, the spiral, the “why can’t I look like her?”, it’s real. I know I’m not alone in that.

Confidence Is Complicated

What’s weird is that mentally, I’m a confident woman. Personality-wise, I love who I am. I’m proud of my strength, my grit, my humor.

But physically? That’s where the cracks show. There are dark moments. Quiet ones. Moments when I want to scream at my reflection because I miss feeling good in my own skin.

And then, just when I’m deep in that spiral, I catch a glimpse of my girls, three perfect little faces that I grew.

This Body Deserves Grace

It hits me, I did that.
She did that.

This body has done absolutely incredible things. She’s stronger than I give her credit for. She’s carried life, fed life, healed, and kept going even when I was running on fumes.

When I’m on the floor playing dress-up or chasing giggles through the house, I’m not thinking about the crepe skin or the tummy rolls. I’m thinking about how lucky I am to have little pieces of my soul walking around in tiny bodies I created.

Motherhood. Womanhood. It’s all a journey, and none of our journeys look the same. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this: we don’t give ourselves enough credit.

So to every mom out there feeling like her body betrayed her, give yourself grace. Your body didn’t let you down. She carried you through.