I get it. We’re supposed to love ourselves as we are. We’re supposed to accept our shortcomings and ignore the little bumps and dimples on our thighs because we’re human and beautiful and our spirit resides inside this awesome vehicle made of stardust, and we’re more than just a pretty thing to look at.

I don’t mean to sound dismissive. I think these are all good things, but I acknowledge that we hear them quite frequently. As a result, positive body image sentiments just kind of fade into the background noise of life.

I wonder how often we acknowledge that we really are in fact beautiful and magnificent beings.

One of my favorite classes to teach as a meditation coach centers on body image—how we see ourselves, how we see those around us and how we can change our thoughts to reflect a healthier sense of our physical self. It’s hard not to internalize it when I’m leading people through these meditations. They’ve been such a huge benefit to my self-acceptance, self-esteem, and overall health. Over the course of about a year or so, I’ve come to love my body and accept that it’s just going to be perfectly imperfect.

Yet when I recently took my daughter shopping, my ego (or something) got a bit of a rude awakening. Confronted by my image in the full-length mirror, I hid my own dissatisfaction with my form and smiled as I tried to ignore a curve that I wasn’t all that pleased with.

My daughter is at that all-important time in her life when she feels awkward in her own skin. She feels lanky and makes offhand negative comments about her hair or her skin. It breaks my heart.

I hope it goes without saying that I go out of my way to never criticize my own body around her—she doesn’t need that kind of example. But anyone who’s gone dress shopping knows it doesn’t always inspire the most confidence.

I slipped a dress over my head in our shared dressing room and turned around to zip her dress up. She looked amazing, but she beat me to it. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “You. Look. Amazing!” she said, as if each word was a separate sentence all to itself. I turned around and looked in the mirror. The dress was too tight around my hips. It showed off a bump here or a ripple there.

“You look like Wonder Woman,” she said.

“Why thank you, darling!” I replied and turned my attention to the budding young woman standing next to me.

I remember when I used to be in her shoes—when I shared a dressing room with my mother when we were out shopping. Today I look like a mom. I’m built like one now—with good reason—and I remembered back to all the times that my own mother was down on her body. She taught me—though never purposely—to look for all the imperfections, to see all the details that could be perceived as negative. I didn’t want that for my daughter.

I don’t want that for my daughter.

Another dress slipped over my head, and my girl demanded that I buy it, which I of course did. The fact of the matter is that my daughter sees me for who I am. She sees the entire package—a woman who’s comforting, warm and powerful. She compares me to the warrior-goddess Athena.

Now when I experience moments that are less than the most perfectly mindful and above it all, I try to see myself as my daughter sees me: strong, beautiful, amazing. It’s definitely a continuing process, but then again, the most valuable lessons are the ones we continue to learn from.

We are more than our bodies. We are more than the clothes we wear and the way our hair lies against our cheek. I learned a very important lesson that day while dress shopping with my daughter: not only am I enough, I’m more than enough for the people who love me.

“I do look good,” I agreed, as I watched a huge smile spread across her face.

I find that I want everyone to experience what I experienced that day.

We all deserve to hear someone say we look amazing—especially if that someone is ourselves.

 

 

Author: Megan Winkler

Editor: Evan Yerburgh

Image: Flickr