The Moment I Started Caring for My Body Instead of Fighting It

Content note: This post discusses pregnancy loss, eating disorders, depression, and body image.

For 10 years, I struggled with an eating disorder and extreme body dysmorphia. I spent so much time obsessing about what my body looked like, what I ate, and what I needed to change.

Then I became pregnant for the first time.

I was overjoyed. We told our families right away, and I immediately started imagining life with this little person. I thought about who they might be and what our family would look like.

At my first routine doctor’s appointment, everything changed.

My doctor stopped, looked at me, and said, “I think you are miscarrying.”

As he continued talking, the room began to blur. I couldn’t take in anything else he said. The next thing I clearly remember is sitting in my car, breaking down.

I knew so little about miscarriage then. No one had prepared me for how common it was, or for how long and uncertain the experience could be.

Days passed, but nothing happened. My body still felt pregnant, and I wanted so badly to believe that I was. I asked for a second opinion.

Over the next three weeks, I saw multiple doctors, went through more testing and a traumatic ultrasound, and finally visited the women’s hospital. There, the loss was confirmed. After holding on to hope for weeks, it felt like I was hearing the news for the first time all over again.

I needed medical help to complete the miscarriage, but the wait for the procedure I was offered was weeks away. I couldn’t imagine continuing in that uncertainty for almost another month, so I chose an option I could do at home.

I had been told to expect something like mild menstrual cramps. That was not my experience. Having since been through two labours, I can tell you the pain felt much closer to contractions.

I miscarried alone.

The weeks and months afterward were my first experience with deep depression. I kept asking why my body had failed me. I gained more than 30 pounds in a couple of months, and when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.

I had spent years at war with my body. Now I felt betrayed by it, too.

Then one morning, a thought hit me: If I couldn’t nourish my own body, how was I going to nourish a growing baby?

It stopped me in my tracks. For years, people had expressed concern about how I was treating myself, but I hadn’t been ready to hear them. I don’t believe I needed to go through this loss, and I don’t know why it happened. But that thought was the wake-up call that finally reached me. It was the moment I began to see nourishment as care, rather than something I had to control.

I began trying to eat for nourishment instead of control. I began moving for my health and strength instead of a certain physique. I started to see my body as something worthy of care, even while I was grieving and even when I didn’t feel comfortable in it.

Did that one realization heal my relationship with food and my body overnight? Absolutely not. After 10 years, those thoughts didn’t simply disappear. Healing took time, and it wasn’t a straight line.

Four months after my miscarriage, I became pregnant with my oldest daughter. She arrived early, on the same date I had learned I was miscarrying the year before.

(More of these incredible moments to come in my journey)

Holding her on that day was extraordinary. It also didn’t erase the baby I had lost or make what happened okay. I carry both experiences with me.

I would never say that I needed to lose my baby to become who I am. But I can honestly say that the experience woke me up. It was the point when I began choosing care over punishment, and that choice changed my relationship with food, movement, and myself.

It’s part of why I do the work I do today. I want women to know that they don’t have to hate their bodies into changing. They can build strength and care for their health while still enjoying food, living their lives, and meeting themselves with compassion.

If you’re in a hard season, you don’t have to have everything figured out before you begin caring for yourself. You can begin where you are. With love,

Erin

If this story brings up difficult feelings, please consider reaching out to a qualified mental-health professional or a trusted support service. You deserve support, and you don’t have to navigate it alone. This story is personal and isn’t medical advice.