It's a huge change for your body. You don't even want to look in

The words of Cindy Crawford are both raw and honest: “It's a huge change for your body. You don't even want to look in the mirror after you've had a baby, because your stomach is just hanging there like a Shar-Pei.” In this, she gives voice to a truth often hidden in silence—the cost of bringing forth life is written not only in sleepless nights and sacrifice of time, but also in the transformation of the body itself. To bear a child is to perform a miracle, yet too often the mother, instead of being honored for her strength, feels shame for the scars of her labor.

The ancients spoke of warriors who bore marks of battle, and those scars were counted as signs of honor. Yet mothers, who fight the greatest battle of all—the giving of life—are often taught to hide their scars, to cover their stretched skin, to lament their changed form. Crawford’s words strip away pretense and bring forth honesty: the body changes after birth, and the mirror can feel like an enemy. But this is not weakness—it is the sign of sacred struggle, of strength beyond measure.

History gives us testimony. Consider the women of Sparta, who were praised not for beauty but for endurance. They bore children who would grow into warriors, and their bodies carried the marks of that labor. These women did not apologize for their strength; their society honored them as life-givers, as essential to the survival of the state. In our own time, Crawford’s words remind us to reclaim that ancient reverence, to see in the postpartum body not shame but victory.

Her honesty also reveals the weight of cultural expectations. In a world that idolizes beauty and youth, a mother may feel cast aside when her body no longer mirrors perfection. But the truth is this: the body that bears children has done a holy work, a work more noble than any sculpted figure or polished image. To look in the mirror and see change is to see evidence of sacrifice, of love embodied in flesh. The skin that sags, the marks that remain—these are not flaws, but inscriptions of life’s greatest gift.

The wisdom here is both emotional and liberating: motherhood transforms not only the soul but the body, and that transformation is not to be despised. The mirror may not show the smoothness of youth, but it reflects a deeper beauty—the beauty of resilience, of endurance, of creation itself. Crawford’s words, though tinged with humor and vulnerability, open the door for all mothers to speak truthfully and to free themselves from false shame.

The lesson for us is clear: honor the body that has given life. Do not measure it against empty ideals of perfection, but against the sacred work it has accomplished. Teach children, especially daughters, that strength and sacrifice are beautiful. Remind mothers that their worth is not diminished but deepened by the changes they bear. In this way, society itself can begin to heal from the false worship of appearances and return to the ancient reverence for life-givers.

Practically, this means embracing gratitude for what the body has endured. Instead of loathing the mirror, see it as a reminder of the journey. Speak words of affirmation to yourself and to other mothers. Surround yourself with communities that uplift rather than criticize. And most importantly, allow time—time for the body to heal, time for the heart to accept, time for beauty to be redefined in truth rather than illusion.

Thus, Cindy Crawford’s words must not be heard as lament alone, but as revelation: “It’s a huge change for your body.” Yes, it is change, but change born of courage. The mirror may show a form transformed, but behind it lies the strength of one who has walked through the fire of labor and emerged with life in her arms. And in that truth, every scar, every line, every change becomes not a loss, but a crown of victory.