They have been told since their conception in my womb, they are lovely, they are stunning, and their bodies have been strategically and majestically knitted together by their Great and Awesome God. Up until this point, when we have plopped them on a scale at the doctor or at home, we whoop, holler, and cheer at how "strong" their bodies are becoming with each pound. The number on the scale signifies one thing and one thing only; strength. Lucy just crossed over into the 40 lbs range and I've never seen anyone so excited in their life, "Mama! Mama! Mama! I made it to 40! I made it to 40! I made it to 40!" Pretty sure my right thigh weighs forty pounds :)!
But I see it in their innocent eyes as they begin to absorb what their culture is telling them on how to define "beautiful". They sit with me and look at prom pictures on social media and ask questions like, "would you let me wear that dress?!" To which their father and I, more often than not, unanimously blurt out, "NO WAY!".
The pool, *ugh*, the pool. The never ending slices of skin that young women (and not so young women) insist on exposing as if their body can only be viewed by young, single, available, upright men. News flash: married men, married women, single men, single women, young girls, young boys, upright men and crude men, can see your body, and they too struggle to keep their thoughts honorable and expectations realistic. For the sake of my marriage, my girl's evolving foundation of modesty, and my son's mental roladex, please PUT SOME FREAKING CLOTHES ON!!! *sigh*
My precious mom had an intense struggle with the scale. Her body, her weight, and her physical identity was never affirmed and validated in her growing up years. She bore the youthful scars of criticism and severe insecurity. Even as her mind was failing her, she saw herself as an extra large woman needing a size 16, even though her frail body was swimming in a medium, size 8. For nearly 40 years, my sweet dad fought the good fought of attempting to tear down those negative ways my mom saw herself. Never ONCE, did I hear my dad criticize my mom. His lips spoke only encouragement and affirmation, exactly what her wounded heart deeply needed. But as I am quickly learning, the wounds from childhood are a hard beast to beat, even with the loving affirmation of a spouse and an AMAZING family and friends. The tender soil of a young girl's developing thoughts about her physical identity MUST be nourished and cared for with the MOST gentle of touches and tailored navigation.
We want our girls to love their bodies!! So much so, that when they dress themselves for school, church, or an outing, we are extremely conscientious with our comments. Mostly limited to, "do you feel comfortable and fabulous in that outfit?!" If the answer is yes, then all other comments and concerns are reserved for things that are immodest or inappropriate. Our children will only hear our voices for so long and what we speak into them better be worth using our word count.
Most of the time, (when I remind myself to slow down and watch) I LOVE having my three girls sit in the bathroom with me when I'm getting ready for the day. I love the freedom of allowing them to see me undone and natural! Especially, when "at my worst" their father enters the bathroom and adores me as if I'm at my finest.
They trace my stretch marks with their fingers and ask me to retell their birth stories over and over again. And not even for one second, do I desire to disguise or rid my body of the markings of their time in my womb. They ask me to identify each cosmetic object in my makeup bag, and beg me to tell them again the stories of the pieces of jewelry in my box. They watch me brush my hair, as I remind them of how golden it was before pregnancy hormones had its way with the color. They watch as I select outfits that make me feel comfortable and fabulous. I want them to care about their appearance but only on a level that breathes balance and security.
Some of my most precious moments with my mom were spent sitting on the edge of her bed watching her get ready for the day. I grew up believing with every ounce in my soul that my mom was the most beautiful woman walking this earth. I never saw my mom fight aging. I loved how her hands had the most gorgeous folds and wrinkles, and the incredibly soft way she would wrap my hands in hers makes my eyes burn. Even when faced with a disease that ages your brain and body in an expedient manner, she aged with a grace that silences me. Buying anti-aging agents feels like the worst betrayal to her in my mind. I lay in bed and dream of aging, because in my mind it means that I can be more like her.
Not only do we want our girls to love their bodies, we want our kids to love food in a healthy, non-addictive manner. We want them to be able to have a relationship with food that exudes joy and not a lifetime of prison. We want them to understand food and not constantly be puzzled by a maze of ignorance. Because there are fewer things more intimate than preparing, creating, and enjoying a meal together with people you love, GUILT FREE! BLISS!
We never want them to look to a number on a plastic, man-made scale to derive value. We never want them to think that they are the sum total of a calorie count or clothes size. We want them to know all the way through their gut and into their toes that they are awe-inspiring and breath-taking. We want them to stand on a foundation this world can never take from them about their true beauty. We want alarms to be blaring in their brains when a man, who in pursuit of their heart, diminishes, criticizes, or devalues them ONE TIME about their body. Because you can bet, my kitchen knife will find his manhood, and that Taylor Swift love story will abruptly end.
We don't want them to weigh their bodies. We want them to weigh their motives, their hearts, their choices, and their life long relationships. We want them to be sound, secure, and safe! We want them to know how we feel about them and their bodies long before they start asking others.
We can see very few more important things in this life than teaching our girls about their bodies, showing them how to develop a healthy love and respect for their bodies, and allowing them to grow into THEMSELVES (not some pornographic Victory Secret version of themselves) with GRACE!
Oh, the true weight we bear when we realize the role we play in how they view themselves, not just when they are little girls, but for their ENTIRE LIVES!
Grow on baby girls! You are safe here!
~Mama & Daddy
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