I always thought that by the time I became a mom, I’d feel confident in my body. In the almost ten years since my first daughter was born, however, I have struggled with body image.

The parts of Me I miss most are not parts I can see in a rearview mirror or parts some stranger can see in the baby food aisle at the grocery store. Me is not some shiny exterior, lacquered and gleaming.

As a western society, we reveal a definition of aging that elevates the physical effects while possibly depleting the inward growth taking place, with many viewing the aging process as something to be grieved, ignored, or even reversed instead of displayed.

I’ve always been the kind of mother who has encouraged my daughter to “stop and smell the roses.” Together we take in, admire, and enjoy the beauty we see in the world around us. This comes naturally to me. What doesn’t is encouraging my daughter to take in, admire, and enjoy the beauty of her own appearance.