Pretty Every Day
A girlfriend once told me about a couple she knew that didn’t believe in complimenting their daughters on their appearances. And if anyone dared to mention how pretty the girls were, those compliments were violently rebuked. Excuse me, but exactly what are people supposed to say about babies? “Um, she’s not cute or anything but I’m sure she’ll grow up to accomplish something.”
Their thinking is apparently that children should not be praised for things that they can’t control. I feel so sorry for those girls, because I can guarantee that nothing will be good enough for those parents. I grew up with parents who seemed to believe that a parent’s prime responsibility was to ensure that their children didn’t get “The Bighead”. No praising your children in front of others, because it’s unseemly. No telling your daughter that she is pretty, because what does she have to feel pretty about? When insensitive people insult your children, even accidentally, it’s rude to contradict and defend your own offspring. And when your children do good in school, don’t fail to point out that they could’ve done better. And, whatever you do, don’t brag about your children’s accomplishments to others, you’re not even impressed, why should anyone else be?
As a direct result of my upbringing, I lack much of the arrogant self-confidence that this world requires. If either of my parents told me I was pretty, I don’t recall it. And to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t pretty, the most I could ever hope for was cute. But the thing is, the two people who should’ve thought I was pretty, no matter what reality threw their way, didn’t. When the kids at school bullied me about the way I looked, I had no opposing viewpoint to help me feel better about myself. I had a mother who thought that my hair needed home-perms and that my skin was terrible. And a father who called me “Birdlegs.” No affirmations, no encouragement.
My primary jobs as a parent are to love and protect my children. That protection takes so many forms beyond giving them food and shelter. I want to make sure that they are armed with the self-confidence they need to succeed in this harsh, cold world. I want to cushion the blows that life is sure to deal out. I want them to be able to fit in with their peers or not, as they so choose. I didn’t fit in with my peers, but it’s not because I didn’t want to. I wanted desperately to fit in, wanted it so bad that it felt like a physical ache. But it was not to be. Were there things my parents could have done differently to help me fit in? Perhaps. If they had told me I was pretty, or made sure that my clothes looked a little more like the things all the other kids were wearing, or believed in my dreams, maybe I would have been better able to deal with my peers. Seriously, exactly how is a kid supposed to deal when her own parents don’t think she’s pretty?
Unfortunately we live in a world that judges us based on appearances first. The first thing people see when they look at me is a pudgy, graying housewife, not my sparkling personality. Bare minimum for girls, in this society, is pretty. I’m not trying to be shallow, or even say that I agree, it is simply an unpleasant reality with which we have to deal, like it or not. Attractive boys also tend to have an easier time of things than their less-attractive counterparts. And here’s the secret: every girl can be pretty, it has little to do with the particulars of one’s face and everything to do with self-confidence and presentation.
I had a friend who wasn’t what anyone would call conventionally pretty, but she presented beautifully and could put on an air of self-confidence as if it were a cloak. Men would literally throw themselves at her feet. She claimed pretty and made it her own. Somewhere in her history someone told her she was pretty, and they told her that every day. I did not have that. Whenever I tried to do that whole present-pretty thing I just looked like a little girl who fell face-first into mommy’s make-up bag, I could not pull it off.
I praise my children for the wonderful things they do, whether it’s drawing pictures, building Lego spaceships, singing pretty songs, or behaving well in stores. I also tell my son he’s handsome and smart and strong. My daughter is fearless, barnstormer-brave, wing-walker-brave, and I tell her she’s my little daredevil, my wing-walker. She receives copious amounts of praise for knowing her letters and numbers (to 13); and I heap the praise lavishly when she manages to use her spoon instead of her hands to eat. I tell both of them that I love them many times a day, eventually it will embarrass them, but until then I lay it on thick. One day, they may well dodge my kisses and squirm out of my hugs and say, “Mo-om!” when I commit the grave offense of saying I love them in front of their friends. For now, they eat it up and thrive on it. Something I make a point of doing is telling my daughter that she is pretty. Every. Day. It certainly helps that she is a beautiful child with ridiculously long eyelashes and caramel-colored curls. But here’s the deal, even if she wasn’t objectively pretty, I would still say it, because it is that important.
My husband thinks I’m beautiful, by the way, and for that I am glad. And maybe I’d be able to believe him if my parents had told me I was pretty. Every. Day.
June 17th, 2008 at 8:52 pm
I so wish you could have met my Mom. You two would have gotten along so well.
I knew I was loved and accepted every day of my life because she made sure I knew it.
Thursday will be 4 years since she’s been gone but she impacts my life every single day.
As you will your two wonderful children.
June 18th, 2008 at 12:56 pm
Wow, this is a beautiful piece. And this:”As a direct result of my upbringing, I lack much of the arrogant self-confidence that this world requires” could be in Latin on my personal crest, it describes me so well. But I had never put into words so well for myself. Thanks!
June 18th, 2008 at 3:28 pm
Wow, what a beautiful post. Your kids are lucky to have such a fantastic mom!
June 18th, 2008 at 7:53 pm
Thank you so much for this! Every time I hear a smart, strong mother praise her daughter it does something to heal the part of me that had to scar over from craving praise so badly. (My own parents were of the “don’t let her get the Bighead” variety.)
But I’ll tell you — I confronted my mother about this once. Why? Why did she tell me so often when I was young that I wasn’t “born under a beauty star?” And my mother, with huge tears in her eyes, said, You looked so much like me and I never could believe I could be that beautiful. It was so sad and so honest all we could do was hug each other.
Thank you so much for breaking the cycle.
June 21st, 2008 at 12:42 am
That was an awesomely good post!!!
July 23rd, 2008 at 6:29 pm
My Mom was big into Woman’s Lib…back in the early 70’s she would have NOW meetings at our house. She NEVER told me I was pretty because she nerver wanted me to rely on my looks…later on I had the confidence of a pea (don’t ask me why I referenced a pea?). When I was in the 8th grade she forced me to drop out of the “prettiest girl” catagory for the yearbook. It wasn’t until I was married that I learned that I was pretty. I can see her point but she took it too far. I have 2 boys (now 25 & 23) and always told them how intelligent and handsome they were…you really do need confidence in both.
July 23rd, 2008 at 11:00 pm
My mother never told me I was pretty, but she told me I was smart.
You sound like a great mom.
July 28th, 2008 at 12:44 pm
This is an incredible post. My mother never told me (or my sisters for that matter) that I was pretty OR smart. So I definitely lack that “arrogant self-confidence” as well. I tell my baby cousins and nephew that they’re beautiful every time I see them and whenever they do something particularly smart or clever, I tell them so.