Battle Scars

After writing a post about teaching our daughters to always believe in their own beauty, I couldn't help but reflect that my reaction to the idea of my own beauty was not quite the same as that of my 4 year old daughter. When we tell her she's beautiful, she truly believes us and skips off joyfully, undoubtedly pleased with herself. My reaction isn't so cut and dry. I'm sure most of you can predict the mental hoops I jump through every time someone calls me beautiful, pretty or even cute. Unlike my daughter, I don't automatically agree and say thank you. And I certainly don't skip away. I may skulk though.

I go through my mental list of what I consider to be flaws at lightning speed. Yes, I'm beautiful except for my greasy hair, my possibly dirty clothes, the big bags under my eyes, not to mention my flabby middle section covered with long stretch marks. Given time, I'm sure I could easily fill this whole blog with descriptions about every part of my body that I don't like. I'm only 29 but my body has been ravaged by four pregnancies clustered over four years. I'm pretty sure that if I were on display in public the quiet whispers in the crowd would center around the idea of a woman who has let herself go. That's part of the human condition for both men and women. We self judge and the theme is rarely positive. Unlike my 4 year old daughter, the first thing on my mind isn't how pretty my hair is, or how much I like the dress I'm wearing (if I was wearing a dress instead of pajamas anyway).

I think in this instance I need to follow my daughter's lead. I need to learn to embrace her innocence. The other day when I was helping her get dressed, I noticed a jagged little scar on her knees. She saw me looking and smiled. She then proceeded to proudly tell me how she got the scar with great pride. She had simply tripped and scraped it at her grandparents' house, but told me the story like it was a great adventure. She recalled every detail about the special attention she'd received and that she got to wear a bandaid. She didn't remark upon the fact that her skin was no longer perfect. She has no problem wearing shorts or dresses even though her little scar is visible. For her that scar is a badge of honour, a battle scar earned during a grand adventure.

Why can't I try to look at myself that way? I may not look my best now. I am worn out and my body tells the tale with every glance. But, rather than judge the appearance, maybe I need to remember the hows and the whys of how I came to look this way. My eyes have bags under them because I was up very early feeding my baby girl. I may be a little greasy, but that's because I was working hard making bread with the kids. My clothes are dirty, but only because I spilled jelly on them while making lunch and haven't stopped moving long enough to change them (let alone take a shower yet). And as for my wiggly midsection and long stretch marks, maybe I should look at those battle scars too. I earned every inch of belly fat and every one of those stretch marks over my four pregnancies. I can't have my four kids without four pregnancies worth of affect to my appearance. I have to say, looking at it this way, it was all worth it. Sure, I'd love to be thin, unblemished, clean and awake, but not if it means I don't get to be Mom. Not if it means I don't get to be the Mom of these four children. Everything about me sings the battle song of my life, and I need to learn to be proud of it, just like my daughter is proud of her little scar on her knee.

That's the face of true beauty. Not the airbrushed and photoshopped "women" (most of them are still girls) we see in the media. True beauty is a life lived and enjoy, not Snow White trapped in her glass coffin. So let's agree to love what's truly beautiful about us.

In the Eye of the Beholder

This morning instead of her usual request for Disney princesses or fairies, my eldest daughter asked if we could watch a VeggieTales movie called "Sweetpea Beauty". I couldn't resist this request as it's a very short DVD and has a message I would gladly spend every day for the rest of her life drilling in. The theme is on beauty, but not in the way you'd expect. They take two classic princess fairy tales, Cinderella and Snow White, and revamp them to be about true beauty instead of society's image of what physical beauty should look like. As I watched my daughter (and her two very obliging brothers who love the movie too) enraptured by the cute animated vegetables retelling her favourite stories I couldn't help but wonder if any of it was sinking in.

She's only 4 and all of her little lady friends are still completely unconcerned about their looks. Or better yet, they're still at that age where everyone is beautiful and fabulous because they haven't been told to think otherwise. Their parents are just as careful as we are to instill the belief that true inner beauty radiates out. Like her friends, her true belief right now is that everyone and everything is beautiful unless she's told otherwise. I wonder how long I can protect her like this and how hard I will have to work to always keep a sense that she is truly beautiful, both inside and out. I know we don't focus on physical beauty too much in our house, but once she goes to school I can't control what others say. It was in elementary school that I recall that brand of bullying starting. Part of me is already beginning to grieve the idea that some day she will look at herself and see some imperfection or flaw. Or worse that one of her school mates will make the leap for her and point out some area of her appearance that will cause her to doubt her whole self. Our society has become so obsessed with the idea of perfectly symmetrical, stick thin women. Will she believe that she measures up to this standard?

My hope in all of this is that if we work hard with her now to understand that beauty isn't just about the physical part, but also about her heart, intelligence and talents, she will learn not to measure herself against airbrushed pictures and starved starlets. I pray that she will see herself with the same joy and wonder I did the day I first held her. There are no imperfections, only variations that make her special and wonderful. My beautiful child and not just a mass produced doll. With whose eyes will she see? The eyes of society or the eyes unconditional of love? I know, just like the rest of us, she'll struggle and have bad days, but in those moments I can only pray she hears the still small voice reminding her she was planned, her creation already known by her Creator before there was time. She is wonderfully made and loved by her family and the Father who wrote her name on the palm of his hand. She is worth loving. She is beautiful.