I’ve never been ashamed of my appearance. Yes, I’m sixty now, no longer the young girl on a magazine cover, and my body is far from perfect—but I’ve always accepted myself as I am. I have wrinkles, a soft belly, and hips that were once my strength but now show their age. Yet all of that tells my story, my life. My husband has always told me I’m beautiful. Even after 35 years of marriage, he can still look at me as if we met just yesterday.
But recently, everything changed. For the first time in my life, I felt insecure about myself. It all started with a seemingly harmless photo. My husband and I were on vacation on the Florida coast—a rare opportunity to escape the daily grind. We were standing on the beach in our swimsuits, he had his arms around my waist, and I was smiling. I wanted to capture the moment and share it with friends on social media.
Yes, I knew the swimsuit accentuated everything I considered flaws about myself. But that’s no reason to hide! After a few hours, likes and kind comments started appearing under the photo: “What a beautiful couple!”, “How wonderful that you’ve been together for so long!” I smiled until I saw the comment… from my own daughter. She wrote: “Mom, at your age you don’t wear things like that. And you definitely shouldn’t show off your less-than-perfect features. You’d better delete the photo.” I froze. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on me.
That wasn’t a joke. She was serious. My heart sank. I gave birth to this girl, spent countless sleepless nights feeding her, taking her to school, helping her through college… And now she writes me something like this. I couldn’t help myself and did something I don’t regret. Unfortunately, I now have to learn to accept and love myself all over again.
I stared at the screen for a long time, then slowly began to type. I wrote: “Darling, that’s our genes. In twenty years, you’ll look exactly like this. And I sincerely hope that by then you’ll be smart enough not to be ashamed of your body.” After that, I deleted her comment. But that wasn’t enough. I decided that if she was going to publicly humiliate me, I had every right to set boundaries. I stopped answering her calls.
When she asked for money a few weeks later, I replied coolly, “Oh, sorry, I’ve already spent it all on food. That’s probably why I’m so fat.” She was offended. Honestly, I didn’t care. I knew I might have overreacted a bit, but in that moment I was defending myself.
And yet, ever since, I find myself critically examining myself in the mirror. Sometimes I cover my stomach with a towel when I put on my swimsuit. I get angry with myself—because I know it’s not about the body, but about the fact that we women far too often allow others to dictate how we should live and look. I’ve taught my daughter a lesson, but apparently, I still have to learn the most important lesson for myself: to be proud and confident again, just the way I am