Dear Body,
I always knew we would arrive at this point. I recall a vivid image of my daughter, dressed in her whimsical fairy costume, dancing in front of the mirror, her voice high and sweet as she sang her heart out. In that moment, she was captivated by her reflection, fully aware of her beauty, and savoring every second of it. I wished so deeply that she would always remember how stunning and perfect she truly was. Yet, a wave of sadness washed over me, knowing that she would eventually struggle with self-acceptance — a fate all too common for girls.
Then, I stumbled upon the wisdom in Brené Brown’s Wholehearted Parenting Manifesto. This guide is crafted for parents striving to nurture their children with love and confidence. The essence of its message lies not in the words we speak to our kids, but in how we embody self-love ourselves. Brown writes for our children, urging them to “engage with the world from a place of worthiness.” They will learn their value not just from our affirmations but through our practice of self-compassion and embracing our own flaws.
It dawned on me: my daughter won’t learn to love herself simply because I tell her she’s beautiful. She will learn it by witnessing me embrace my own imperfections.
So, dear Body, I need to express some truths to you.
For as long as I can remember, I have harbored shame towards you. You’ve often made me feel inadequate or invisible. But now, I want to understand things from your perspective. I think my disdain began around the age of eight when we faced so much turmoil together. You started to hold on to weight, and I was furious. I already had a mountain of worries, and now I had to grapple with being “overweight.”
But I see now that you were just trying to shield me. You created a barrier between me and the harsh realities of the world. Together, we formed a protective cocoon.
I’m working to unlearn that need for protection. It’s time to feel vulnerable again because we are safe now. Thank you for trying to keep me safe.
This is our moment of reckoning. I am committed to loving you fully from now on.
Do you remember the stretch marks that appeared just before my daughter was born? I watched in despair as they extended across my belly, marking it with what I perceived to be ugliness. In all my life, I had never seen a woman represented in media with marks like mine. Once again, I felt I didn’t match the ideal image portrayed in magazines.
But Body, thank you for carrying not just one, but two beautiful children. Thank you for your incredible adaptability, for bringing forth life, and for providing me with purpose and fulfillment.
Remember how frustrated I was with you for not excelling at sports or running fast? We struggled to hit a softball or make a basket. But I’m grateful now for every moment you’ve carried me through, especially those awkward years. Together, we are discovering what movement makes us feel strong and alive.
I love you, Body. I cherish your curves and your unique shape. I embrace the changing form of my breasts, which nurtured my children. I celebrate the soft arms that provide comfort to my little ones and the legs that offer a safe haven. I appreciate how my body connects with my partner, who has always recognized our beauty.
So here’s to our reckoning. I love you for myself — and for my daughter.
Thank you for everything.
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In summary, this reflection on self-acceptance and love towards our bodies is vital not just for us, but also for the next generation. Embracing our imperfections can pave the way for our children to do the same, creating a cycle of self-love and worthiness.