Like most women, I have an uneasy relationship with the mirror.
Even at the zenith of my attractiveness, I was unable to see my positive attributes: natural, effortless slenderness, strong, angular bone structure, good height, classic coloring.
Instead, the glass revealed only flaws. The stray unwanted hair, a chin that jutted out just a little too far, heavy eyebrows, and the curves of a young boy. This is what I saw reflected back at me.
A few weeks after my wedding day, a friend told me that our mutual stylist told her I was a “classic beauty.”
Ha! I thought. He must have been drinking that day.
Several years later I was rendered almost completely bald from an autoimmune disorder called alopecia areata. The disease, which has no definitive cause and no discernible cure, strikes randomly and left me with only about 10 percent of my once gloriously thick hair.
The hair came back, but I wore a wig for almost two years. That time gave me ample opportunity to reflect on beauty and society and how one defines oneself as attractive. I tried hard to focus on my positive attributes (big brown eyes, a well-shaped mouth, clear skin, a sharp wit), but what I really learned was how not to see myself.
The looking glass became a means by which to ensure my teeth were free of debris, my skin moisturized, my eye make-up applied precisely. Was my wig straight? I checked by limiting my focus to my forehead and ears.
This compartmentalization continues even now. I can’t remember the last time I blew my hair dry or looked at my whole self. Instead, I breeze by the mirror to ensure I’m adequately groomed. In fact, my critical eye has now focused on my lower body, examining flaws created when I underwent my first pregnancy.
I’m pregnant for the second time, now, and my body will change yet again. I feel certain my viewpoint, however, will remain the same – self-critical, self-scolding.
Not enough. Of anything. That is what I see.
Then I look at my daughter, my beautiful daughter. She has my big eyes and the thick, curly hair that runs in my late father’s family. She has a muscular, athletic build. She will never be a willowy girl.
But her beauty? It overwhelms me.
I look at her, and I see in her eyes my real reflection. Strong, capable, loving, protective, fierce, wise.
It is my truest, most desperate hope that she is always able to see her own image looking back at her for what it is, no matter where it may be reflected.
Gorgeous.
by A.L. Hatch
[tags]kids, children, parents, men, women, beauty, self-concept, self-assessment, mirror, image, alopecia areata, self-worth[/tags]
Photo graciously provided by Please! Don’t Smile., through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved
14 responses so far ↓
Amy // Jan 15, 2008 at 5:24 am
Thank you for that powerful post. I realized recently that there are only a few months in my 38 years when I could actually look in the mirror and not be overwhelmed with negative emotion at what I saw. Grooming now is a look for a silhouette, not a true picture. I too am able to look at my eyes and not see my face, look at my feet and not see my legs.
I never mention this to my daughter, she’ll hear no negative self talk from her mother, but can she see it in my eyes? Can she feel it in me? Is my effort alone enough to protect her from this overwhelming feeling of inadequacy that women are prone to?
Emily // Jan 15, 2008 at 2:28 pm
That is the biggest challenge in raising children — giving them the confidence we have always struggled to have.
andi // Jan 15, 2008 at 2:38 pm
That was beautiful.
Imagine if you could see yourself through the Poo’s eyes – I bet you’d be amazed at how gorgeous you are.
Waiting Amy // Jan 15, 2008 at 3:48 pm
Nicely put. I understand the looking without really seeing yourself in the mirror. The rare occasion that I get really decked out and actually look at the whole picture, I’m sometimes pleasantly surprised. But it only takes seconds to start picking out those flaws.
I love what andi said. I bet the Poo thinks you are just gorgeous!
Fizz // Jan 15, 2008 at 4:30 pm
You’re not alone with the self-criticisms. Andi put it so well – if we saw ourselves as our children see us, we’d probably be amazed. Reaching a point where we see ourselves that way (either ‘again’ or ‘for the first time’) is worth striving for, I think.
carrie // Jan 15, 2008 at 4:32 pm
I couldn’t agree more. It is my daughter that is my strength, my beauty.
Stu Mark // Jan 15, 2008 at 5:13 pm
A) I’m a guy, so feel free to ignore my comment. I live in a different universe when it comes to the concept of beauty.
B) I have self-esteem issues, one of which is my looks. I have trouble looking in the mirror, and I hide behind a big beard. I do not feel that I am attractive.
C) I have a son and a daughter. As such, when they are within earshot, I do two things: I compliment them on their outer beauty as much as their inner beauty, and I refrain from making self-deprecating remarks. It’s tough, but when I start to slide, I remind myself that my life is not my own, that my life is my children’s, for them to feed upon, in order to grow to their highest potential.
D) Beautiful essay.
Angel Funk // Jan 15, 2008 at 7:49 pm
Beautiful. I needed this today, so thank you for your honesty.
candace // Jan 15, 2008 at 9:08 pm
beautiful.
the post and you and your daughter.
Megin Hatch // Jan 16, 2008 at 8:17 am
Again, I am moved by your talent, your words, and your interpretation of life. Thank you for being here.
This is on my mind today, too. Is there a woman who has not struggled with perceived flaws? Is there a man? And of course the ever present oft asked question: how do we raise our daughters to see themselves differently?
BTW- the thing I miss most about pregnancy is that it is the only time it’s socially acceptable to be fat. Please eat and enjoy a Dove bar for me… and report back- stat.
Bipolarlawyercook // Jan 17, 2008 at 6:37 am
Gorgeous, like you, whether you believe it or not.
Ginger // Jan 17, 2008 at 8:03 am
This is a touching, poignant post, and really, could only be written by someone whose intelligence and internal guide are shot through with pure beauty. I have a mom who weighs about 100 lbs soaking wet. At 5′2″, she is very thin. But she grew up heavy (Fat Ferne, they called her — including her adopted siblings) and she was, indeed, heavy until she was 36 and dropped loads of weight on a water diet that I think landed her in the hospital. She engaged my oldest brother in this competition for weight loss (he was 16 and was heavy his entire life; “Marshmallow” was his horrendous nickname) and he, too, has been thin ever since. But they are not just thin — they are obsessed. I was spared her self-image problems as a child. But as a young woman, I never thought of myself as pretty, beautiful, thin enough. And man — I look at pictures of my 19-year-old self, or my 30-year-old self and think, “what, were you blind?” It took me until my 40s to believe someone when he/she tells me I am beautiful (and I don’t always believe them anyway) It has taken me this long to smile at myself, my image, in the mirror, to like what I say, to be grateful for red hair and curves and freckles (okay, maybe not so much the freckles.) This is a theme I read about so much in our lives — I would love for our daughters and sons to learn self-love and self-acceptance from us… thank you again for your posts, Megan and A.L.
Clink // Jan 17, 2008 at 2:13 pm
What a wonderful post. The Poo will always see that beauty in you!
STL Mom // Feb 10, 2008 at 9:32 am
One of the best parts of having kids is on those rare occasions that I get dressed up to go out, they say, “Mommy, you look like a princess!” and years of seeing myself as short, stumpy, and plain are forgotten.
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