Learning to find beauty in who we are is an arduous journey most of us neglect to embark on. By the age of twelve, I felt out of place next to my petite friends. By fourteen, I stopped looking at myself in the mirror in the presence of others. By seventeen, I hid my fine hair with extensions, and at eighteen, I filled the gap in my teeth.
At twenty -six, I became a mother.
As I became a mother, I discovered a depth of love that I have never felt before, not only an unconditional, all-encompassing love for my baby, but also the beginning of a love for myself that I hadn't yet experienced.
When my daughter was first born, her features were a striking resemblance of my own. The fine dark hair I'd once hidden, I became proud of, the round nose and creases across her cheeks that I once hated, I now cooed over.
As she's grown, my daughter's appearance has changed; her hair has become golden, my eyes are deep brown, hers are now a vibrant blue. Though the contrast in complexion has become unequivocal, beneath the colour of her eyes, I can detect the same tenacious spirit that lies beneath my own. When I look in my daughter's eyes, I see pieces of myself that, for the first time in my life, I have been able to recognize as beautiful.
Never have I appreciated the idiosyncrasies and quirks that make me who I am as something beautifully unique. As my daughter inhales while squealing or scrunches her nose and narrows her eyes, I see those pieces of myself in a new light, a light that reveals their endearing beauty because while she is a person all of her own, she is still also so much of me.
I smile at the way she collects armfuls of stuffed animals, collapsing onto the heap of them before falling asleep the way I once did. The specific pointing of her crooked little finger against the seat of a chair, demanding that I sit provokes a grin. Her undeniable obsession with blueberries and her love for animals so resemblant of myself. The way she fidgets with her toes until her socks roll from her heels and how she sits crooked in her chair, how she will work with intense focus until managing to buckle herself into her highchair all strike me with profound familiarity.
The qualities that we share, remind me of the beauty I possess, the little pieces of who I am that are worth loving.
So know, dear mothers, as you learn to discover and appreciate the beauty that you possess, your confidence in who you are will overflow onto your daughters. On days where her self esteem falters or when doubt of her worth overcomes her, she will look to you and know the beauty that is within her.
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