I avoid mirrors. I move to the side so I’m not in the picture. I cringe when asked out to eat or invited to sit on friend’s furniture. That’s how it has been for the majority of my life.
There are moments when I think about when I’m gone and realize that my children will only have a few images of me, but I still can’t bring myself to document my body.
The bag of flesh that carries me around and allows this magically fantastic life is the same thing I can’t bring myself to love. Most people don’t understand. They think of it as a refusal instead of an inability.
I want to look at myself and feel an overwhelming sense of pride. I want to see more than what I am not, but I can’t.
Instead, I do the only thing I can: I teach my children to love themselves–to see the value they hold, not because of what they look like, but because they are immensely worthy of greatness.
I tell them the things I wish I had heard, the things I wish I had the strength to believe about myself.
About the Author
J.H.Hipsher is a former college instructor turned homeschool mom. She is a graduate of the MFA writing program at Naropa University and lives in Illinois with her husband, three children, 2 dogs, and 2 cats.