The other day, while getting ready for the day, my 7-year-old daughter, Lily, suddenly froze in horror as she glanced at the back of my legs. As someone with a tendency to worry excessively, I exclaimed, “What’s wrong?!”
“There are bumps all over your legs,” she replied, concern etched on her tiny face. “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“Oh, that?” I chuckled. “That’s called cellulite.” I added, “It’s just something that runs in the family.” She didn’t get the joke.
In that moment, I realized this was an opportunity to talk about body image. However, I found myself too distracted by the unforgiving bathroom lighting, questioning whether I might actually need medical attention.
“What is it and why do you have it?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
“It’s energy, stored up for when you need it,” I replied, trying to sound knowledgeable.
“Energy?” Her skepticism was palpable.
“Uh, it’s more like air bubbles under the skin,” I stammered.
“Air bubbles?”
“You know what, let’s not worry about it,” I said, but now she was worried, and that made me anxious too. Suddenly, I felt a strong urge to address something I had previously ignored.
“Can you make it go away?” she asked hopefully.
“I guess if I hit the gym more often,” I admitted.
“Then why don’t you just go?”
“Because…”
“We have a gym in our building, and you have workout clothes. You could go when I’m at school.”
“BA-BAM,” as she would say—I just got called out by my own daughter.
I started pondering my usual excuses for avoiding the gym: my NutriBullet is packed away, exercising triggers my rosacea, I need to drop ten pounds to fit into my stylish stirrup leggings, I don’t have a BPA-free water bottle, I skipped shaving my legs, I need supportive sneakers, I haven’t created a killer workout playlist, I have to walk the dog, and of course, there’s always laundry to do.
I considered confessing that I’m not entirely convinced the gym would erase my cellulite. But then I remembered Lily’s remark, “I have the biggest legs in my class, even bigger than the boys.”
That hit me hard; it’s a difficult and painful realization. She’s worrying about her legs—something I never did at her age. But here she is, already comparing herself to others.
I reassured her that it’s okay. That I’m fine, she’s fine, and everyone is perfect just the way they are. Nobody is in danger because of their cellulite. And so, I laid out my gym clothes for the morning.
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In summary, it took a candid moment with my daughter to spark my motivation to prioritize my health and fitness. Sometimes, the simplest observations can lead us to make meaningful changes.
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