It finally happened…

Why is it socially unacceptable to use emojis in blogs? I know the answer. I used to write fanfics and would sprinkle in emojis, but then I’d cringe reading them back. And reading fanfics with emojis? It was even worse. But this post isn’t about emojis—it’s about my need to convey the biggest YIKES in existence because, y’all, postpartum hair loss is finally catching up to me. When I looked in the mirror yesterday, my jaw hit the floor.

I never had any illusions that postpartum hair loss would skip me and double up on someone else. No. But… I’m still shocked and, don’t judge me, a little excited. I know it sounds ridiculous, but hear me out. Visually, my pregnancy was anticlimactic. I was so excited about having a bump, about looking and feeling pregnant. But if you follow my Instagram, you saw that I barely looked pregnant in my last days. Just boobs the size of Texas and the worst body and face acne in existence. I had HG (hyperemesis gravidarum) and lost a lot of weight. It felt like puberty all over again. I had never felt uglier, and though my sister meant well, she’d often remark on how much I looked like my 16-year-old self… which only reminded me of how that version of me was a skinny, pimply, four-eyed, brace-faced teenager who felt out of place.

Now, I’m dealing with leaky boobs, dark marks on my face and back, and bald spots. But, funnily enough, I’ve reached a point where I can take a compliment—they make me incredibly happy because I’m someone who needs to hear it. I grew up with deep insecurities, facing racist remarks about my lips and hair, being compared to a gorilla at school, then coming home to be told I ate too much and my acne made me look ugly. It was suggested I get it under control. These experiences led to an unhealthy relationship with food, leading to an eating disorder and covering my face with calamine lotion every night at 12 years old. So, no part of me genuinely believed that people found me beautiful or attractive.

But I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m not ugly, and here’s why: Of course, this is biased, but my daughter is so beautiful now that she no longer resembles an alien (I’ll never pretend that newborns are cute—argue with your ancestors, not me). She is gorgeous, smells amazing, has her daddy’s eyes, the cutest little hands and ears, and those lashes?! She is perfection to me. And people constantly tell me she looks like me. Granted, I don’t see it, but I’d be doing my daughter a disservice by thinking I’m anything less than perfect, dark marks and all.

I’ve never been so disinterested in my insecurities as I am right now. My pudgy stomach, my boobs (don’t get me wrong, the day I can afford it, I’m getting that reduction), my less-than-photogenic face, my nose—I can’t be bothered. This body went through so much to bring my tiny Alien Superstar into this world. I always struggled to find comfort in my ‘grown’ body because I’d been skinny my whole life. But now, the relationship has changed, and the incessant struggle of wanting to walk out of my body is long gone.

I don’t think pregnancy can cure body dysmorphia or the level of disgust I felt every time I saw my reflection, but I seem to have a newfound respect for this body. It’s the only one I’ll ever get—I don’t have Kardashian money. But I’m proud of how my mind and body worked together to sustain me and my daughter. It kept her heartbeat strong, and I found the strength to start walking again after wilting for weeks on end (I nearly met my maker, but that’s a story for another day).

I have to say, putting these thoughts into words has been a cathartic release. Cue the waterworks. Obviously, I wouldn’t recommend pregnancy as a cure for bodily insecurities—you never know what that one thing that helps you overcome certain issues will be. Not to be corny, but there really is always a little light at the end of the tunnel, whether it comes from within or somewhere else. You’re going to be alright.

All the love, N.