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Motherhood: When You Resemble A Lion And Still Wouldn't Trade It For Your Old Life

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The other night, as I was getting ready for a date night out for my husband’s birthday, everything was going wrong concerning my getting ready process. My self-confidence dropped so low that I could hear the actual crash. Little mean whispers, got louder and louder in my mind. Then, CRASH. Self-confidence was broken, in little pieces.

This is how your self-confidence crashes.

I had my hair nice and done (translation: showered and gelled or somewhat contained) and my two-year-old daughter was excited mommy was wearing her hair down and had a grand idea to try to make me look like one of the Lion’s from Madagascar. I don’t think it was her intention but it was the putting-a-brush-to-curly-hair outcome.

This is how your self-confidence crashes.

I tried on a bunch of old outfits after I put my babies down and nothing was fitting to my liking. Gosh, I missed normal sized pre-pumping boobs that fit into clothes and didn’t leak like a faucet. I also missed how my tummy used to not have a little pooch at its center. It used to be hard and firm—I think I had abs, or at least I remember them, even though my stomach muscles clearly don’t.

This is how your self-confidence crashes.

I looked in the mirror and thought those were the days:

The days where outfits looked better on.

The days where I had time to go to the gym every day.

The days where I slept in on the weekends and wasn’t constantly sleep-deprived.

The days where I blew my hair out and even styled it at times.

This is how your self-confidence crashes.

I stomped down the stairs and looked at my husband, the birthday boy, and quickly said “I need to change” before he could say anything about my awful appearance. I did an about-face and stormed back upstairs. I heard his loud sigh trailing behind me in echoes.

I put on a different shirt, a buttoned-up long flannel, and came downstairs, but I still felt so insecure. I felt frumpy. I looked in the mirror at a farmer that just got back home from picking weeds, not a woman ready for date night. Crash. Self-confidence in itty bitty pieces.

Who is this person?

We went to the restaurant, and it took me some time to get out of my bad mood. I was still stuck in the mirror with the first outfit I put on. My mind was left there, abandoned to that moment, staring at that person, trying to figure out who she is now.

"You seem distracted, the kids are sleeping, and fine," my husband said as we sat down for dinner.

“I know,” was my answer, because I did know, and I wasn’t distracted because of that. I looked one last time at my two babies sleeping soundly. So beautifully.

This is how you build your self-confidence up again.

Were those the days?

The days of lonely nights.

The days of numbing feelings and insecurities.

The days where I wasn’t so sure of who I was.

The days of feeling empty.

My family builds my self-confidence up. They make me believe that I am worth more than my body dysmorphia, then my insecurities. They are my everything.

My body is different now, but so am I. I am in a better place. Yes, I may not have flat abs and time to get my hair blown out, but I have so much more than that surface. I have a life filled with experiences and a husband who I am out to dinner with who is waiting for me to get back from that mirror—back from that old life where frankly I wasn’t well.

This is how you build your self-confidence up again.

You remember what really matters.

And how, these are the days:

The days of snuggles with my two-year-old while my one-year-old tries to cuddle on top of us.

The days of dancing to music with my babies as the only form of exercise I get.

The days where I produce milk five times a day instead of endorphins.

The days of feeling every emotion, even insecurity.

And I wouldn’t trade a thing.

Because these are the days of what my body does and not what it looks like. I would never want it to be any other way. And I’ll never go back. Even if I am rocking Lion hair for the rest of my life.

This article originally appeared on the author's Facebook .

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