“Mom, come here!” my daughter yells from the upstairs bathroom. I rush in, fearing the worst—perhaps she’s in danger in the tub. Instead, I find my five-year-old, Mia, standing on a step stool, mesmerized by her reflection in the mirror, clad only in her bright pink underwear.
“I tilted the mirror down, and now I can see my whole body!” she exclaims, twisting playfully and grinning at her image. She flexes her arm and proudly declares, “I’m super strong!”
To me, she’s utterly perfect, and, as it seems, she believes so too. But a troubling thought crosses my mind: one day, someone will tell her she’s not perfect. The anger rises within me as I envision some misguided person shattering her joyful self-perception. They might point out her “big” feet or suggest she shares her father’s nose. They could look at her slim little frame and insist she needs to eat more or, conversely, that she should eat less. Someone out there will inevitably alter the way my daughter views herself forever.
As she twirls in front of the mirror, my mind races through the possibilities. Who could it be? She has a close-knit group of friends at school, some of whom have older siblings. Might it be one of them? It’s hard to fathom; at this age, the worst insult is “I won’t be your best friend anymore,” a drama that typically resolves within a day. It’s not in their vocabulary to say, “I don’t like how you look.”
Television won’t be the culprit either. The characters she adores—like Dora, who dresses more like a boy, or the ever-innocent Caillou—don’t propagate harmful body standards. I doubt the insidious body image thief will emerge from the TV screen.
I walk over to my beautiful daughter and embrace her. “Look at us, Mommy,” she says, pointing to our reflections. I glance up and mindlessly tug at the grays in my hair. As she poses and preens, I scowl at the bags under my eyes and try to smooth out my forehead. Hearing her giggle, I turn to find her mimicking my exaggerated expressions. Then she turns to me, her eyes sparkling, and says, “Mommy, you’re beautiful.”
In that moment, I realize I’m the one perpetuating the negativity. I’m the one introducing her to societal standards and the ugly thoughts that accompany them. When she suggests I flex, I complain about my arm flab. When she encourages me to wear my favorite black pants, I lament my “too big” backside. She insists, “You’re beautiful, Mommy!” while I counter with my flaws. I will be the one who teaches her that her perception of beauty is flawed. I’ll instill doubt in her mind, introducing her to the magazine standards of attractiveness that only serve to undermine her confidence.
“I want to grow up and look just like you, Mommy,” she says in earnest.
She doesn’t see the weary, middle-aged woman I perceive myself to be; instead, she sees a wild-haired goddess who protects her from harm and envelops her in love.
Determined, I push the negative thoughts away. I refuse to be the one who undermines her self-esteem. I won’t subject her to the relentless judgment and doubt that plague me. Tomorrow, I will wake up and remind her that we are beautiful, and I’ll do so every day until I believe it as strongly as she does. Someone may eventually tell her that she isn’t perfect, but I vow it won’t be me.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the challenges of maintaining a positive self-image for both mothers and daughters. It emphasizes the importance of nurturing self-confidence in children and the impact that societal standards can have on their perception of beauty. The author resolves to be a source of positivity for her daughter, rejecting negative self-talk and actively promoting a healthy body image.