"What big cheeks she has! She obviously never misses a meal."
What started off as a harmless comment from an elderly lady turned into something that's been swimming through my thoughts ever since. What I heard from that comment was "Your baby is fat. She's not perfect. You should be doing better for her." In my head, I was explaining that Charlie was actually thinner than other babies her age. She was actually underweight. She's had those cheeks since birth and she gets it from her daddy. I was defending something that didn't need defending. As he always says to me: I had my boxing gloves up and was ready for a fight. I realize now that I was fighting over my own insecurities.
I'm uncomfortable in my own skin right now. Nothing about my reflection looks familiar to me and it's scary. I have scars, stretch marks, lumps, and bumps. My hair is short and not a colour I'm too pleased with. My chin has doubled and my thighs now rub together. I hide my body under large sweaters and baggy jogging pants. I should be holding my head up high and be proud of how strong my body has been this past year (I had a baby! I beat cancer!), but instead try to fade into the background and avoid mirrors. I'm unhappy and I've subconsciously been teaching that to my daughter.
In my eyes, Charlie is perfect. So why do I feel the need to defend her to strangers? Why would I ever think that being 'underweight' is more acceptable and beautiful? What does that teach her about accepting herself? Every night, I tell her all of the things I love about her and I make every effort to list 'beautiful' either last or somewhere in the middle. Never first. I thought this would teach her that being beautiful isn't as important as being smart or kind. Now I'm starting to think otherwise. Charlie needs to know that being beautiful is not what society says it is. Being kind, funny, and smart are all forms of beauty. I want to teach Charlie to be comfortable in her own skin and not to care what others think of her. I want her to exude confidence. I need to teach her to celebrate her uniqueness. I want so much for her but how could I possibly teach her this when I have such disgust for myself right now? I need to work on me.
I need to start telling myself the things I love about me. I love that I am ridiculously smart. I love how much compassion I have for others. I love how strong I am. I love that I have a great sense of humour.
Starting today, I will be a work in progress. By this time next year, I want to love all of myself. How else will my daughter love herself, if I don't show her how much I love me.
Previously published at mindfulmommymoments
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