I knew this was coming. From the very first moment the doctor said, “It’s a girl!” I knew I’d have to navigate body image issues.
I know all too well what it’s like to look in the mirror and not like what you see. Not because there’s something wrong with me, but because I don’t look like other girls, because I’m not what society deems as ideal beauty.
Even though I knew it was coming, nothing can prepare you for the heartbreaking moment you hear your daughter say, “I’m ugly. I hate how my hair looks.” Or “I’m fat. I hate how big my legs are.”
Why can’t she see herself how I see her? Why can’t she see herself as she truly is, not what society says she’s not?
She has a beautiful heart. She’s the first to welcome a new student, ask a friend to sit with her, or see how you feel.
She is bright. She might not be on the Ivy League track, but that’s not the kind of smart that matters. She knows what comes easily and has figured out other ways to solve problems when it doesn’t instantly make sense.
She is extremely talented. I wish I could sing like her. She has a beautiful voice and is naturally athletic. She can learn a dance just from watching others and mimicking.
She is funny. She inherited my sense of humor and understands timing and sarcasm. So, she’s obviously hilarious.
She is herself, and that’s all she should ever try to be—the best version of herself. I wish she knew the only person she needs to compare herself to is the person she was yesterday and try to be a little bit better than her today.
From the moment I found out I was having a baby girl, I worked on myself. I don’t love how I look, but I know it’s all I have to work with. I learned how to work out and eat better, hoping to teach her when she’s ready and willing to learn.
I became a girl’s girl, always trying my best to build others up and not tear them down. I surrounded myself with women who thought the same; comparison games and a scarcity mindset were no longer welcome in my circles.
I consciously tried never to say anything disparaging about my looks in front of her. I thought I could prevent this from happening, that I could spare her from these awful feelings.
I want her to understand that her beauty and worth don’t come from her outward appearance or from comparing herself to others. They come from the inside, a light shining outwardly so bright when she’s confident in who she is.
I know she’s only 11, and I can’t make her see. I know it’s completely normal, and I shouldn’t be overly concerned. But it doesn’t stop my heart from being torn to bits when I see her struggle or doubt herself.
I will do the only thing I can: I will repeatedly tell her how I see her, as often as I have to. I will remind her of who she is, not who she is not. And I pray it speeds up the process of her realizing it. I don’t want her to wait until she’s buying pink bows and frilly outfits for her own daughter for it to sink in.
by Tiffany Reiger 
by Julia Ubbenga 
by Krystal Sieben 
