Mother’s Day is upon us, and I’m curious: what kind of body legacy are you creating for your daughter?
What do you see when you stand in front of the mirror? A body that loves you and wants you to be happy, or nothing more than an ugly vessel designed to get you from this place to that.
When you say I hate my thighs, how do you think they feel about that? When you say I hate my stomach, how do you think your organs respond to that?
In what way is your self-hatred serving you? In what way is it not?
I’m really curious: how do you think your daughter is responding to this?
In my last article, How Compulsive Overeating Saved My Life
, I wrote about my past struggle with compulsive overeating and how no matter what I did, I just couldn't seem to shake that creeping bulimic monster of mine. She'd weave in and out of the shadows of my mind, intent on finding a way to trip me up. Triggered by even the slightest event, tone of voice, or simple exchange. Questioning my worth in all areas of my life.
Did I do the right thing? Did I say something wrong? I hope they don't think I'm stupid.
I wonder, how could the perceptions I formed as a child been different if my Mother had loved her body?
I chose to know, how could things have been different if she had not been abused and left alone feeling scared and unworthy?
I often think, how could things have been different if her Mother had acknowledged the abuse and protected her from future incidents?
If fat is our physiological protector designed to enrobe toxins to keep us safe, I’m curious, how does emotional fat protect us? If we don’t speak, we are not heard and yet, if we speak, we risk exposing those parts of ourselves that appear too vulnerable to share. But are they?
What what would happen if you got really honest with yourself and your daughter about what it means to be a woman? A woman in love with every part of herself. A woman firmly grounded in Mother Earth with the knowing that she is beautiful and perfectly imperfect.
What possibilities might unfold for you?
What possibilities might unfold for your daughter?
As I sit here today, surrounded by calming waters and a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, I am reminded of the little girl I once was and I weep for her. This terribly insecure, frightened, anxious little girl whose saving grace was a package of Oreo cookies and several bowls of mint chocolate chip ice cream. This little girl with hearing aids and glasses who was deathly afraid of speaking her truth. This little girl who just wanted to be heard.
Your daughter is always watching.
What message do you chose to convey?
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