As I sit down to reflect on my life at the age of 37, I can’t help but remember a time when I thought that reaching this milestone meant life was winding down. Back then, 37 felt like the beginning of the end, where fun faded, and Spanx became a necessity. It arrived much faster than I anticipated, and the reality is, I’ve spent 444 months—yes, that’s right, 444 months—struggling to feel satisfied with my reflection.
Can you believe that in all those months, there wasn’t a single day when I felt content with what I saw in the mirror? Not one.
How does that happen? Honestly, I’m not sure, sweetie. I remember a fleeting moment before fourth grade when I thought I looked decent, thanks to that cool denim jacket from Sears your Grandma and Auntie got me. But apart from that, I never really embraced my appearance.
Growing up, I longed for straight, shiny hair and wanted to look like my friends, who were mostly fair-skinned. By high school, I briefly accepted my curls—well, for about two minutes—before I was back to wishing for a taller, slimmer figure. I wished to be prettier. Less… well, like me.
In my twenties, it was all about my thighs being too big and my waist not being small enough. Fast forward to my thirties, and things were somehow even worse. People began discussing all sorts of “fixes,” including surgeries for, believe it or not, making their lady parts look better after giving birth. I remember thinking, “Great! Another thing to obsess over!”
Yes, my dear, society has its standards, and it’s easy to get sucked into that vortex. Even though I know it’s all quite ridiculous, I’ve found myself caught in that trap.
But don’t worry—I haven’t spent your college fund on any cosmetic procedures—yet! What’s truly baffling is that since I was 15, I’ve never once thought, “Wow, I look perfect today.” Not even a single day has gone by where I haven’t compared myself to other women.
As I write this at 37, reflecting on my life with you, my 5 ½-year-old daughter, it hits me how much time I’ve wasted wishing to be someone else. I wish I could go back and shake myself, saying, “Love who you are! Embrace this moment! You look good! And if you don’t think so? Who cares?!”
It’s painful to realize that I still struggle with self-acceptance, and I worry about the message I’m sending you. I tell you every day how special and beautiful you are inside and out. So why can’t I extend that same belief to myself?
In all those years, I’ve never conveyed that I feel comfortable in my own skin. Instead, the message has been that I need to change, but don’t worry—I’m working on it! The truth is, I never reach that finish line. It’s a race that seems to have no end, and it’s time for me to stop running—for both our sakes.
Love,
Mom
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Summary:
This article explores the author’s journey of grappling with body image issues over the years. Reflecting on the unrealistic expectations society places on appearance, the author conveys the importance of self-acceptance, especially for the sake of her daughter. Despite years of struggle, the author recognizes the need to break the cycle of self-criticism and embrace body positivity.