If I could have a road map for one aspect of parenting it would be for teaching self-love and self-esteem.
I’ve struggled with these concepts all my life, but they take on a whole new dimension when viewed through the lens of child-rearing. Especially when you’re living in a society that reveres appearance and status, often to the detriment of kindness and compassion. Pretty ironic considering how desperately the world needs more of the latter. I reflect on this a lot as someone who constantly wrestles with her weight, acne, and the (somewhat horrifying) remnants of birthing two children. It’s front and center today, though, because of something that happened last week.
A few days ago, I had a pimple on my chin. It’s healed now but when it first appeared my daughter was clearly revolted—she came in close, went all Inspector Gadget on me, made a disgusted face, and backed away like I had the plague. My son simply asked me what it was and said my kisses were “gross.” Over a zit. One tiny pimple. I laughed it off with my kids and told them that it’s a normal part of growing up and that it’s not nice to draw attention to or say mean things about someone’s imperfections. For a moment, though, it stirred up those old familiar friends: embarrassment and contempt. Then it got me thinking about appearances and flaws and unconditional love—and how we parents are tasked with teaching our children to look past all of that and appreciate that it’s what’s inside a person that truly counts.
We’ve all been down this path in different ways and for different reasons. For me, the bane of my existence has always been cystic acne, the most severe kind, of course. It’s nowhere near what it used to be (pregnancy seems to have rebooted my system, thank goodness), but believe me when I tell you, the shame, self-loathing, and depression I felt over it consumed every aspect of my life, starting around the time I turned 13 until I got married in 2013—at the age of 35. I’ve even called out sick from work over this nonsense! It sounds silly, but that’s how debilitating and mortifying it was for me, and still is to be honest.
I’m reminded of one time in particular, probably because it involves my husband, the only man on the planet who never made me feel ugly or self-conscious about my face. It was September 2011, just a few weeks after he and I met. I had a Disney trip planned with my parents and sister for that month and while we were there, I developed a small cluster of cystic acne on my chin (it was always my chin). If you don’t know what cystic acne is, I’m jealous. Let’s just say it’s not a pretty picture—it hurts like hell and is so, so ugly. (I know I’m not supposed to say that, but this is an honest blog.) And because I hated myself for the way it made me look (and feel), I used to glob on so much medication in the hopes that they would heal more quickly. That’s not how it works, obviously, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And oh boy was I desperate whenever I broke out.
The whole week we were in Disney, I medicated and medicated and medicated. But rather than correcting the problem, I only made it worse because my skin became severely dry and flaky. I can’t believe I’m talking about this in public, but if we can’t be honest about who we are and where we’ve been, then what’s the point?! This is the microscope through which I constantly viewed myself. I believed my worth was wrapped up in this small imperfection, which I couldn’t control, and it obliterated my self-love and self-esteem.
Anyways, back to my story. I whined and moaned and agonized over my chin for the duration of our Disney trip, much to the annoyance of my family I’m sure. I was terrified my (future) husband would take one look at my face and immediately dump me because I was so hideous. My mom wasn’t having any of it, though, replying: “You’re beautiful. And if he’s the kind of person who would leave you over a pimple, he’s not the kind of person you want to be with anyways.” She kept telling me to have faith. I wanted to believe her so bad but when you’ve carried a burden like this for so long it’s impossible to see it from any other viewpoint. Besides, it’s not like my mom would ever call me ugly. She couldn’t be objective; I’m her daughter. This is the part that concerns me the most now that I’m a momma: No matter what my mom said or how loved I felt, it never changed the way I saw myself. And now I’m left wondering if it will be the same with my kids. Will all my reassurances and loving sentiments fall on deaf ears, the way my mom’s always did? ☹
By the time our trip ended, I was beside myself with worry. In normal cases I would have avoided my boyfriend at all costs, but for once in my life I was (finally!) dating a gentleman and he insisted on picking me up from the airport upon my return to Jersey. I will never forget how immediately after disembarking from that plane I walked right into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror, hating myself and forcing myself not to cry or care what he thought. I probably don’t need to tell you that all of my anguish, embarrassment, and self-torture were for naught. My husband didn’t even bat an eye. From day 1, he saw only me. That should speak volumes considering how much this memory sticks out in my mind as “unique” among the men I’ve dated. Geez, I could publish volumes about those guys and how they hammered my self-esteem.
My reason for telling this humiliating story is that it reminded me just how fragile our self-image is and that anything or anyone can easily break the bubble we so painstakingly put around ourselves when we’re young and impressionable—especially when it comes to the opposite sex. Because while my actions and opinions of myself may sound ridiculous and pathetic, there are a million reasons for why I viewed myself through that uber-critical lens, many of which fall under the “looks” category. At my most impressionable age, I was overweight, with severe acne, eyeglasses, and no confidence. By the time I got fed up and changed all that, much of the damage had already been done. And then my dating history (man)handled the rest.
Don’t get me wrong, though, I don’t blame my old flames. We all have a choice about who we let into our heart; I just consistently chose unwisely. Perhaps that speaks to how I saw myself back then, but at least I found my way in the end (with the help of an angel named Nick). I also understand that we can’t control who we are attracted to and that we are all guilty of admiring others because of their appearance. Let’s face it, I didn’t have a crush on Jon Snow (if you don’t know who that is, he’s a character played by the delicious Kit Harington on my all-time favorite show, Game of Thrones) because of his witty, charming, happy-go-lucky personality. He was a whiny, moody bastard (literally), but damn was he hot! 😂
What really pains my heart is knowing that my children are going to find themselves in this same place one day—on both sides of the fence. They will be forced to choose who’s worthy of their love and to distinguish between the blossoms and the weeds, an arduous undertaking when many times it’s the weeds who are the worthiest of our affections. They’re going to face ridicule and judgment and insincerity. They’re going to fall for people who won’t love them back or who only want them for the wrong reasons. They’re going to feel self-doubt and shame and hurt. They’re going to learn the meaning of the phrase “unconditional love” the hard way, on a journey that’s oftentimes unrewarding and unforgiving. And we parents will have to watch it happen all the while knowing there’s not a damn thing we can do about it other than to teach them how to love themselves, flaws and all, and give them a soft place to land when they fall short.
I don’t know how attainable that goal is because looking back down my own path, no amount of devotion or support or shelter could have altered the way I saw myself. And it wasn’t for lack of trying on my parents’ part, either. Some things we just have to learn on our own, I suppose. Still, I remain hopeful. Maybe my experiences and the knowledge I gained—about myself and the world at large—while traveling the long, dusty road toward my husband are the road map I’ve been longing for—the one I can use to guide my children one day, when they find themselves in uncharted territory on the wings of love. What an exquisite concept! Or maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about and this is all wishful thinking. Only time will tell.
I’ll leave you with this quote by poet Rupi Kaur, which I believe ties this post up with a pretty little bow: “How you love yourself is how you teach others to love you.”
And that’s where we begin.