I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and listened to my mom say how ugly she was.
I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and saw my mom stand in front of the bathroom mirror, sucking in her stomach, asking if I noticed how much weight she lost.
I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and watched home videos where my mother would run away from the camera screaming at my father to not film her.
I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and observed as she blowdried bangs in front of the forehead she despised and called too big.
I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and witnessed her reject with self-disgust every compliment someone gave her.
I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and felt sad when she would put on a beautiful dress only to take it off angrily when my father commented on her size.
I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and questioned why she never took pictures with her children.
I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and being guilty of the damage she said her children did to her once very small body.
I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and suffered the consequences of her treating her body to bottles of poison every single night.
I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and stayed quiet while she criticized her nose, her hips, her scars and marks.
I grew up being told I look like my mom,
and knew my mother hated the way she looked.
I grew up being told how beautiful I was by my mother.
I never believed her.
She never understood why.
She said I was beautiful.
I proceeded to dislike myself.
A mother’s words become her daughter’s self-talk and the negative ones carry much more weight.
Pay delicate attention to what you say about yourself and set boundaries with women in your life who constantly tear themselves apart.
Our daughters are listening.