As I walked through the park today listening to birdsong and admiring the huge trees dappling morning sun on the wet grass, I was struck by a thought.
All trees are beautiful.
The leafy ones, the stumpy ones, the spindly ones, the droopy ones, the young ones, the old ones. In fact the old ones are possibly the most beautiful of all.
They all have trunks, and branches, and sometimes leaves. Some have bright blossoms. Some are evergreen. Some are swathed in ivy. Some are stark and make amazing silhouettes. They dance in the wind. They creak. They are still.
I have never criticised an oak for not being a poplar. Or thought a weeping willow should bear fruit and maple leaves. Whenever I look at a tree, I simply see their beauty. The shelter they offer. The power of their stillness. Their life-giving bodies budding into leaves.
But me? My body? I tell myself I should be a poplar when I am an oak. I don’t value the shelter my body offers my children because I lack elaborate topiary.
I want to have maple leaves or cherries or longer thinner branches and delicate blossoms. I don’t want to get older. I don’t see the beauty in my everyday acorns.
What if we could just see our bodies as we see trees? Each made from the same basic components, but growing individually. In our own pattern. Each one of us a powerful life-giving force. We have knobbly bits, and broken bits, and places where the leaves won’t grow. Shelter. Strength. We are beautiful.
Today I am trying to see myself, my mum-body, as a tree. And you, I see you, standing strong, and you are beautiful.
This post was inspired by our amazing Love Mum Body series (join in here), and also by our current featured activity Send a Supermum Postcard (join in here). This month we're sending Supermum Postcards to show a mum just how much we like her acorns. Or her topiary. Simply, how much we respect her for being her, just her, and an amazing mother.