By Megan Kewaza 
I used to avoid mirrors. I vividly remember going to Walmart with a friend in high school and finding ourselves in the mirror aisle. My friend would strike a pose in every mirror she could. I kept my head down and kept walking. When she asked me about it, I stumbled over my words trying to make a joke of it.
When the hairdresser would hand me the mirror to look at how the back of my head looked, I’d pretend to look and put on my best acting performance so she wouldn’t know I completely dodged the mirror just in case I got a glimpse of myself.
Most people call for shotgun when calling dibs on what seat they want on a road trip. I, on the other hand, would always request to sit behind the passenger seat. This allowed me to avoid the side mirror and the rear-view mirror altogether.
It wasn’t until I learned the life growing inside of me three years ago was a girl that I realized how harmful, detrimental, and destructive my avoidance of mirrors was. Right then and there I made two promises. I promised she would never hear me talk badly about my body or appearance. And I promised that when I broke my promise, I would talk to her about how I was wrong.
One of my favorite bonding experiences with her is to hold her tight, cheek to cheek, and declare to ourselves in front of the mirror how beautiful we are. How I love that she has her mama’s eye shape. How amazing that our hair and skin color are so different yet so uniquely gorgeous. How our smiles are contagious. And how I wouldn’t change a thing about either of us.
She’s two, so of course I know these little moments are more so laying a foundation than establishing her actual self-esteem. I don’t know a single 2-year-old who isn’t their authentic self. If they’re shy, you’ll know it. If they’re happy, they’ll show it. And if they’re mad, you’ll hear it. They don’t put on a show for anyone.
And she hasn’t experienced enough of the world to know that it will try to make you feel ugly when really, it is the ugly one. She doesn’t even understand enough words to comprehend when someone is throwing a backhanded compliment around. She’s innocent and naïve.
And oh, how I wish I could freeze that. To bottle it up. To protect and safeguard it against a harsh world. I know one day, the promise I made to both of us will hold more weight. She will need to see her mama, with all her wrinkles, with all her scars, with all the unwanted weight, with all the gray hair, with all her imperfections–she will need to see her mama stand in front of a full-length mirror and love and celebrate the beauty that God created. She will need to know I’m not all talk.
That, likewise, God wasn’t all talk when he said we are perfectly and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14). And that we are made in His own image (Genesis 1:27). That we are God’s masterpieces (Ephesians 2:10). That we are loved and chosen (Ephesians 1:4).
The day I see this humble love for herself slip away will be a sad and alarming day. But I will remain ready. Even when my all too frequently intrusive thoughts plague me, I will stand in the middle of that Walmart aisle and strike a pose in front of a 100 mirrors. I will show my daughter that I accept who God made. And I fervently pray that she does too.
by Lori Jarrett 
by Kelli Bachara 
by Sherry White 
