I have never been ashamed of my appearance. Yes, I’m already sixty, not a young girl from a magazine cover, my figure is far from perfect — but I’ve always accepted myself the way I am.
I have wrinkles, a soft belly, and hips that once were my pride but now tell the story of my lived years. But all of this is part of me, part of my history, my life. And my husband has always said I’m beautiful. Even now, after 35 years of marriage, he can still look at me as if we had just met yesterday.
Under a photo of me and my husband in swimsuits, my own daughter wrote nasty things: I decided to teach her a lesson.But recently everything changed. For the first time in my life, I began to feel ashamed of myself.
It all started with what seemed like an innocent photograph. My husband and I went to the seaside for a vacation — a rare chance to escape our daily routine. We stood by the shore in our swimsuits, he held me by the waist, and I smiled. I wanted to save this moment and share it with friends on social media.
Yes, I knew the swimsuit highlighted all my flaws. But damn it, that’s no reason to hide from the world!
Within a couple of hours, the photo received likes and warm comments: “What a beautiful couple!”, “How wonderful that you’ve been together for so many years!” I smiled until I saw one particular comment… from my own daughter.
She wrote: “Mom, at your age it’s not appropriate to dress like that. And you definitely shouldn’t be showing off your fat sides. Better delete the photo.”
I froze. As if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over me.
Under a photo of me and my husband in swimsuits, my own daughter wrote nasty things: I decided to teach her a lesson.
It wasn’t a joke. She meant it. My heart sank. I gave birth to this girl, I spent sleepless nights, I fed her, I took her to school, I helped her get into university… And here she was, my daughter, writing this to me.
That’s when I couldn’t hold back and did something I don’t regret. Sadly, I now have to learn once again how to accept and love myself.
I stared at the screen for a long time. Then I slowly began to type my reply:
— “Sweetheart, these are our genes. In twenty years, you’ll look the same. And I really hope by then you’ll be smart enough not to be ashamed of your body.”
I hit send. Then I deleted her comment.
But that wasn’t enough. I decided that if she could publicly humiliate me, I had every right to set boundaries. I stopped answering her calls. When, a couple of weeks later, she asked me for money, I coldly replied:
— “Oh, sorry, I already spent it on food. That’s exactly where my fat sides come from.”
Under a photo of me and my husband in swimsuits, my own daughter wrote nasty things: I decided to teach her a lesson.
She got offended. But honestly, I didn’t care. Maybe I went too far, but at that moment I was defending myself.
And yes, after this incident, I still sometimes catch myself looking at my reflection with criticism. Sometimes, when I put on a swimsuit, I cover my stomach with a towel.
I get angry at myself for this — because I know: it’s not about the body, it’s about how we, as women, too often let others dictate how we should live and look.
I taught my daughter a lesson, but it seems I still have one more to learn myself — how to stop being ashamed of who I am.