Why is it that when considering our bodies, we focus not on how it feels or what it needs, but instead we tend to spend our time focusing on how it looks?

The parts of Me I miss most are not parts I can see in a rearview mirror or parts some stranger can see in the baby food aisle at the grocery store. Me is not some shiny exterior, lacquered and gleaming.

One of the biggest changes to spending more time at home, I realized, was not being observed by others. I remember, in the “before times”, during meetings I might have spent some mental energy on being aware of how others were perceiving me - my body, expressions, and movements.

So often we talk about eating as a means to an end, but I love to think about food as part of an experience and something to be enjoyed, not just something to be recorded and counted to make me smaller.

I realized I had no idea how to recognize what foods made me feel good or bad, or how to actually recognize fullness or hunger cues. I was so out of tune with my body that I didn’t know what joyful movement felt like, or how to find ways of moving my body that best served me.

As a western society, we reveal a definition of aging that elevates the physical effects while possibly depleting the inward growth taking place, with many viewing the aging process as something to be grieved, ignored, or even reversed instead of displayed.

My actual image, though — confident as I was — was short and stocky. I looked strong, yes, but in a female farmhand kind of way. If I had been tanner, you might have wondered if I’d come in from the field and thrown on my best suit just to apply for another crop loan.

I’ve always been the kind of mother who has encouraged my daughter to “stop and smell the roses.” Together we take in, admire, and enjoy the beauty we see in the world around us. This comes naturally to me. What doesn’t is encouraging my daughter to take in, admire, and enjoy the beauty of her own appearance.

More often than not, it feels like I am dramatically breaking up and getting back together with my body. It's a complicated relationship, trying to saddle up to my innate beauty while simultaneously minimizing the things that I find challenging, discouraging, less-than. Some days I feel like my best self, and others, well, I feel as though I am 10 miles behind the starting line and every cell in my body is working to form a union in which the motto is MAKE CELLULITE OR DIE.

Take a moment and consider this: what if exercise had nothing to do with weight loss? What if the pressure to get toned arms and a flat tummy as a result of consistent physical activity was completely taken out of the equation? Would you still bother?

My daughter, Zoey, sits on a bench beside me, moving her legs back and forth to the beat of the song she quietly sings. In the mirror before me, I see her kicking feet, and I am grateful her movement has momentarily pulled my attention toward her reflection and away from my own. But soon my gaze shifts back to my body to the task at hand, and I’m wishing I was somewhere else.

I have a bump in my nose that makes people ask if it's ever been broken, my curly hair is never defined and smooth like those shampoo commercials would make you believe, and I have stretch marks in places I didn't know could stretch (side note: EVERYTHING can stretch).

We can be so cruel to our bodies. From what we say to ourselves, to what we eat, drink, and think, to the ways that we harm ourselves and the company we keep. We can take our abilities for granted until something limits or restricts an ability we are so used to on a daily basis.

My bionic heart and I had a recent breakthrough ignited by my morning meditation practice. I’ve been doing this for close to 18 months now. I place my cupped hands over my heart, one crossed over the other. I do this often to get myself centered and focused with my intention for the day. However, it was not until very recently that I felt full acceptance of myself, bionic heart and all.

Women tend to become invisible as we age. The charm of graying temples is a term of endearment reserved for men. Our society is conditioned to equate beauty with youth, intrigue with speed, and attraction with shallowness. And as you age, you realize fewer people notice you.

The fact is, I'm not mad at you for changing. I know it seems like I am. But I know it isn't your fault. It isn't your fault that we're sick and that we can't do life the way we used to. Neither one of us asked for this. And the truth is, you've handled this thing amazingly. I hate to think of where I would be had you not shown so much strength over the last seven years.

Oh, body.
You’ve been healthy and sick
Disabled and strong.
Everything in between.

After a lifetime of feeling invisible, a photo shoot opens the door to self-discovery and beauty.