"Mama, am I a pretty girl?"

I'm starting a new, occasional column where I publish letters I've written to my daughter.  Since I found out I was pregnant, I've kept a journal full of letters for her to read later.  Some are mundane, some are funny, and some I'm choosing to share here, as they speak to issues that many of us face when raising children. 

Dear Boo, 

Yesterday you asked me, "Mama, am I a pretty girl?" and my heart broke a little.  You're 3 and three quarters, and already the pressure to be beautiful is starting to weigh on you.  I wish I could tell you honestly that this is just a developmental phase, but the cold, hard truth is that looks matter for women, and the worry of being 'pretty enough' or 'good-looking enough' will likely follow you forever, no matter how hard I try to protect you from it (and I will try, darling, and fiercely, because I believe it does women so much damage to be judged on our looks - to waste time worrying about our appearance and hiding our flaws - when we could be doing all kinds of other amazing stuff). 

When you asked me that question, I hedged, and asked you back, "What do you think?  Do you feel like a pretty girl?"  You answered without hesitation, "Yep!", and moved on.  Fantastic!  That's the kind of confidence I love to see and want to preserve for you.  It's confidence I don't have, but try to fake, for you, for your sake, because you learn so much implicitly from me.  

But I couldn't let it stop there.  Later, as we sat down at the table together, I told you (and let this not be the only time you hear it), "Boo, being pretty feels nice.  But what's so much more important is that you are a kind, smart, curious, passionate person, with a beautiful soul.  That's what shines through, and that's what really matters."  I hope you heard that message, and if you didn't, I'll shout it from the rooftops for you.  It's a hard world out there, and shitty enough for women without all the socially-conditioned self-loathing we put ourselves through, trying to conform to some impossible ideal of feminine beauty dictated by, and displayed for, the male gaze. 

You're 3 and three quarters, and you don't need to hear all that of course, but know that I think about it, and I strive to protect you from it in whatever limited way I can.  Know that you're brave and strong and so fiercely loved. 

You're gorgeous too, of course, but that's beside the point. 

xoxo, 

Mama