to my daughter
June 12, 2013 § 10 Comments
At bedtime we curled into easy conversation, side by side, replaying the day behind us and talking expectantly about the day ahead. Between our words I watched your eyes study my face, documenting my lines and questioning stray hairs. I marveled with amusement at your honesty and tried to give you answers that would inform how you gaze at your own reflection.
I told you I lingered in the sun too long when I was younger, smile at each opportunity, sometimes forget to wash my face before bed. I gave you honest answers without apologizing for what some might consider flaws.
I didn’t tell you that I don’t feel beautiful and I am often uncomfortable beneath another’s gaze. Even as you studied the tiny hairs on my face and pink blemishes that have accompanied me from my teenage years into motherhood, I tried not to look away and hide from your inventory. I knew you would filter my flaws with love.
My self-awareness is born of old insecurities whose cost undermine my greater worth. The intricate imperfections I wear with an invisible sensitivity are pieces of my entirety. In a room full of strangers the small lines and stubborn mass of hair, brown eyes with green flecks and imperfect smile are mine alone.
One day you may similarly find pieces of yourself you might change and I hope that in those moments you will remember you are a collection of differences, pieces of a puzzle that create a unique image. More importantly I hope you will know that it is the poetry of your mind and the span of your heart that inform the world of your true beauty.
Love, Mom
scribblechic 
I am sure your daughter will learn from the regular advice regularly imparted by a truly wise, insightful mother.
Thank you. I hope the messages we gift her in our home will balance those our daughter will encounter outside our home.
Ps and that’s too many regulars!
Your hindsight edit and sense of humor are refreshing. On more than one occasion I have wanted to amend a comment. Additionally, I have accidentally posted a draft with an over-eager, unintentional click of my mouse. Let’s just call too many regulars a compliment in consistency.
Brown eyes with green flecks sound lovely.
Thank you.
Fun fact: I did not realize until adulthood that I had green flecks! Ironically this trait is one of the first things my children identify as “mine” when rendering drawings of me or describing me to others.
Your daughter is going to realize the power of these advice when she will grow up and they are going to help her a lot in the growth of her personality. Great post.
I hope so. Thank you for your kind words.
“I knew you would filter my flaws with love.” Isn’t that what we all hope for? Maybe that’s what love is.
Agreed. Perhaps I find it easier to love others. Still, as a mother, I am ever mindful that how I love myself models subtle lessons in self-worth. It would have been easy to explain away my flaws as things I hate or wish I could change, but then what pieces of my daughter’s reflection might she wish away?