Mother’s Day: What I Wish I Would've Known

Eighteen years ago this weekend I became a mother of a girl. Because I have a wonderful relationship with my own mom, I was eager to recreate a similar bond with my little one. It didn’t hurt that I adored large bows, fluffy stuffed animals, and wearing frilly tutus (not that any girl should be told she must enjoy such things). Before you wonder if I would have been equally as pleased to have given birth to a son, yes I would have, and two and a half years later I was blessed with an adorable boy.

From her first moments of life, I cradled my tiny baby girl in my arms, staring in awe of how gorgeous she was, all the while feeling displeased with the body that carried this creature of perfection for nine months. Looking at those first pictures of our family coming home from the hospital with our daughter, one would have sworn that I was still pregnant had my child not been present in the snapshot. It’s hard not to cringe looking at myself in those photos. 

After struggling with my body image for so many years, I vowed as a new mother to do everything in my power to prevent my daughter from experiencing the same mental anguish as I had. For the eighteen years that have followed, I have worked purposefully to show her what it is like to accept (and some days even love) one’s body while simultaneously teaching her that her self worth is not defined by her outward appearance. 

I am embarrassed to admit that I used to look judgmentally upon mothers whose children were older than mine who had various body image issues. Smugly, I believed that behind closed doors these particular mothers must have done something wrong in order for their daughters to feel the way they did. Perhaps they had spoken poorly about their stomach while wearing a bikini to the pool, disparaged the cellulite on their thighs when they wore cut-off shorts, or lamented the excess fat on the back of their arms that shook when they waved them in the air. I was convinced the mother was partly to blame.

I vowed to be different from this imaginary narrative. I swore that I would never engage in any unhealthy talk about my body in front of my daughter, no matter how ugly I felt, and for the next eighteen years I faithfully adhered to that promise.

I worked hard to refrain from speaking critically about any part of my body, and I never complained that I looked ugly on any day (even though I might have felt it), no matter what size I was. I modeled to her that I exercised and ate healthy because it felt good and it nourished my body. I showed her the pride I experienced in being a strong woman, and I never bought clothes because they “flattered” me, but only because I liked them (hence the reason I still wear tutus to this day). I tried my best at showing my daughter that I accepted myself, cellulite and all.

On the frequent occasions when I struggled with my body image, I waited to speak to my husband long after she had gone to bed. Nothing but affirmations flowed aloud from my mouth to her, and I was convinced that because of my good efforts, my daughter would be spared any body image struggles, therefore, loving her body would come naturally.

Until it didn't.

Humbled to my core and discouraged that my daughter was struggling with her body image, it took me a while to realize something I wish I would’ve known earlier in the journey of raising children:

No matter how good your efforts are to combat societal pressures, sometimes the world’s messages are too strong, too pervading, and too present to not make an impact.

Even if you think you have done everything right, your child is not immune to struggling. 

I naively believed that a mother’s modeling of self-love would have the incredible power to thwart all of the world’s negative and unhealthy messages, like I was a magical seamstress of a superhero’s costume. Who was I to think that my genuine attempts at body positivity had woven an impenetrable suit of invincibility for my daughter, where the bullets of the nasty villain just bounced off? Alas, I came to realize that I was no such tailor.

Instead, I began to view my role more like that of a humble maker of eyeglasses, who through her crafting, helps her child to see the truth, encourages her to know how to spot the lies of the world’s message and pressures, and then shows her how to have courage to believe she is good enough.

Do I regret all the years that I modeled body positivity by not speaking critically about myself, showing self acceptance, and encouraging nourishing food and exercise for the sake of mental and physical health? Absolutely not. However, if I could go back to the early days of motherhood, I would most certainly pass along this advice:

Wholeheartedly model self acceptance through proper nutrition, exercise, and self talk. Work hard to not disparage any part of your body. Show your child that the world has unhealthy and unrealistic expectations that will make her feel that she is not good enough.

BUT… Don’t be devastated when she struggles.

Even though speaking the truth aloud for years didn’t spare my daughter from struggling with her body image, thankfully it did make a positive impact on her. Years later as the time came for me to tell her of my own body struggles, she appreciated my relatability and honesty. I am certain that my daughter has an incredible foundation, knows the truth, and for that I am grateful.

A mother is not a superhero’s seamstress. A mother is one who can be the most real (and closest) example of what it is like to learn to accept yourself in a world that wants us to think otherwise. A mother can model to her child what it is like to choose to believe that she isn’t defined by her body, yet at the same time is wonderfully created. And when, (not if) her child struggles, a mother has the great honor in being the one that hugs her precious child tight, wipes the tears from her eyes, and lends a listening ear.

Happy Mother’s Day.