Updated: March 14, 2016
Originally Published: March 14, 2016
As I chased my energetic 2-year-old daughter, she darted around the corner, giggling and shouting, “No, mommy, don’t catch me!” In her excitement, she raced through the dining area and collided with the kitchen island. The impact was alarming, and my heart sank as I rushed to her side.
I quickly examined her head, bracing for the sight of a bump or injury, but instead, I pulled my hand away to find it smeared with blood. Panic surged through me, accompanied by a wave of frustration directed at my partner for not being more cautious. But guilt soon followed—what if I had been the one chasing her?
To make a long story short, she ended up needing two staples in her scalp. Yet, amidst the chaos, an unsettling realization began to unfold. I couldn’t shake the thought that she was now “damaged” because of her scar. It reminded me of the day I discovered she had chipped her tooth.
“She’s not perfect anymore,” I thought. Where were these feelings coming from?
I carry my own imperfections—a body marked by sun damage that resembles freckles, stretch marks from adolescence, scars from surgeries including two cesareans, and an assortment of tattoos, not to mention a skin graft. Each mark tells a piece of my life story, a narrative of survival.
Growing up in New Zealand, I experienced a harsh sun that left its mark, alongside the inevitable changes of puberty and the scars from surgical complications. My tattoos reflect a journey of exploration, punctuated by struggles with mental health in my youth. And the marks from bringing my two beloved children into this world are treasures etched in my skin.
What I’ve come to understand about my daughter is that she is, and will always be, perfectly imperfect. My initial fear that she was damaged was fleeting; her worth in my eyes never wavered. She carries a healthy self-image. However, my own insecurities about my imperfections linger, making self-acceptance a more complex journey.
Through the love I have for my daughters, I strive to extend that same compassion toward myself. I recognize their inherent value simply because they exist, and I want to believe that applies to me too—and to you as well.
As I continue to grow into my womanhood, I find myself embracing imperfections more and more. They are where our true stories lie, and I long for the depth that comes from sharing our scars. As women, we have a unique ability to bond over our experiences, finding strength in the acknowledgment of our flaws rather than fearing them.
We are not broken; we are beautifully imperfect—just as we should be.
This article was originally published on March 14, 2016.
If you’re interested in learning more about starting a family, you can check out our other article on how to use an at-home insemination kit. For those seeking support after a loss, this resource can provide invaluable insight. Additionally, for comprehensive information on fertility services, visit Johns Hopkins’ Fertility Center.
In summary, parenting teaches us profound lessons about imperfection. Our experiences, both joyful and challenging, shape our identities. Embracing our scars allows us to connect deeply with ourselves and others, celebrating the beauty of our shared humanity.