Parenting
When I was around 7 or 8 years old, I penned a note to my mother that read something like this:
“Mom,
I’m sorry I’m overweight. I dislike myself. You probably don’t love me. Maybe I should run away. I wish you had a daughter who wasn’t so heavy.”
—Alex
Just recalling that letter fills me with a desire to embrace my younger self and shield her from the shame and disgust I felt. The thought of my daughters experiencing similar emotions at such a tender age truly breaks my heart.
I still remember the incident that triggered that note. At a neighbor’s house, we were measuring our wrists by wrapping one hand around the other to see if our fingers met. Mine didn’t. The other girls’ fingers did, and one even appeared able to wrap around twice. At that moment, I was convinced there was something fundamentally wrong with me.
By then, I had already experienced weigh-ins at school and was conscious of my weight compared to those I admired. Although weigh-ins were private, the other girls often asked about my weight as soon as I stepped out, sometimes even girls I hardly spoke to. It was a tactic for them to feel better about themselves. I didn’t have to disclose my weight, but denying it felt like admitting defeat. Those moments were painful reminders of my insecurities.
My mother was supportive and listened to my feelings, assuring me I was beautiful. However, I knew her words were those of a mother and often felt hollow. I continued to struggle with my self-image, and the timeline for overcoming these feelings remains uncertain.
Over the years, I’ve sought various ways to lose weight—some healthy, others not so much. I’ve tried supplements, eliminated entire food groups, and even gone days without eating. I’ve battled between wearing baggy clothes to conceal my body and investing in outfits to highlight my best features, even when I wasn’t at my desired size. I slimmed down for my wedding, gained weight and stretch marks during pregnancy, underwent surgery for health reasons, joined gyms, attempted running, and incorporated more vegetables into my diet. Currently, I find myself at a neutral point. I no longer hate myself; rather, I strive for acceptance and, on better days, even love it. Much of this shift stems from having daughters and recognizing the importance of modeling healthy self-perception for them—even if I sometimes have to feign confidence.
My eldest daughter, Lily, is nearly 6 and truly stunning. While any parent would naturally feel this way about their child, I genuinely believe it. Recently, while preparing both her and her younger sister for school, I overheard Lily say her sister was prettier. I often hear her express this sentiment, particularly if one has more sparkles or bows.
This type of dialogue is troubling, as it is unproductive and distracts from what truly matters. I reassured them both that they were beautiful, yet I heard Lily lament, “But I have a big belly.” In that moment, I was transported back 25 years, struggling to hold back tears. I wished I could pause time and share the wisdom I’ve gained, but I had to act quickly. I told her she was radiant and beautiful, and she smiled as we continued on our way.
Can I be honest? I feel scared. Scared of what lies ahead. I remember the pain I felt and want to shield my daughters from similar experiences. I understand now how minuscule appearance should be in the grand scheme of life. How do I instill in her the true essence of beauty, which is not reflected in a mirror or determined by a clothing size?
I must impart to her the lessons about self-acceptance and health that I am still eager to internalize myself. I wish her to understand that it’s possible to love ourselves and find happiness. I want her to know that I am committed to guiding her towards self-discovery, just as she reaches for my hand in the night to feel secure and sleep peacefully. I am her mother, and every fiber of my being contributed to her existence—my body, my soul, the painful parts of my past, and my fears all shape her as I nurture her into a confident young woman.
As I conclude, I must confess: if similar feelings arise again, I am uncertain how to navigate them. I fear her pain and hope never to receive a note like the one I once wrote. I promise to confront these emotions for her sake as well as my own.
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Summary:
Teaching self-acceptance to my daughters is a daunting task, rooted in my own childhood struggles with body image and self-worth. I want to ensure they understand beauty transcends physical appearance, and I strive to model healthy self-perception. My journey includes confronting my fears and insecurities to guide them toward confidence and happiness.