IF MY DAUGHTER IS COMFORTABLE IN HER SKIN, I’VE DONE MY JOB WELL

I never was.

Maybe it’s because, ever since I can remember, my skin was what made me visibly different from every other girl in the room. Maybe because you look like chocolate ice cream were the first words spoken to me years ago on the school bus. Perhaps it has to do with having been incessantly compared to others who had made seemingly better choices on what university to go to, career to pursue, and partner to marry. Choosing to surround myself with a mostly homogenous group of friends who had little insight into or sympathy for my sentiments didn’t help.

Whatever the reason, the discomfort of being who I am has carried with it limitations I struggle with today. This is not a struggle I want for my daughter. At nine years old this beautiful little girl sees everyone and everything in a positively magical light. This pure soul yells hello to acquaintances on the street who typically don’t respond with the same enthusiasm, she writes letters to a fairy that visits us every other night, believes wholeheartedly that she can communicate with animals, and uses her big bright imagination to journey to fantastical lands when her surroundings don’t meet her expectations.  

Apparently, part of being a good parent is breaking the cycle and consciously trying to unlearn what you have spent your whole life experiencing. Yet every night I find myself sitting in bed reflecting on how I spoke to her that day. Unable to fight the urge to get her to conform and be like everyone else, I tell her to tone it down a little, not in so many words but the message is clear, stop being you. In an effort to protect her from the evil eyes of others, I end up being the one she needs protection from. 

My feelings probably have a lot to do with this being THE YEAR. The year when the body started to change (uncomfortably), school got a little harder, mean girls surfaced, and a coach put my baby girl on the sideline. This was the year when I felt like protecting my daughter from the harsh realities of life was going to be a full-time job. But, despite the desire to protect her, the fact is I can only prepare her. I can’t do that by subtly telling her to change who she is. I can only do it by loving her unconditionally and building her up so she is strong, resilient, and self-assured.

The other day, after dropping her off at summer camp, I watched as she walked through the crowd of kids sitting on the gym floor, eagerly searching for her friend with her head held high. Such a small action with so much meaning for me that I couldn’t help but smile. As a child I would have sat quietly on the outskirts of the group, avoiding any eyes on me but this little girl navigated the sea of children without a care in the world. 

This past Sunday she elegantly played Bach and Kabalevsky on the piano for a crowd of 100. She only told me after the fact how nervous she was but still got the courage to get up there. I couldn’t be prouder. At her year-end dance show, she performed hip hop in front of a full auditorium, a smile beaming across her face the entire time so I must be doing something right.

At the end of the day, being surrounded by people who love and support us for who we authentically are will ensure everything else falls into place. All I can do is make sure I’ll always be one of those people for her.