I stand in front of the mirror, my hands instinctively finding the places I have learned to critique. A stomach softened by motherhood. Hips that don’t fit into the jeans I once wore. Lines on my face that tell stories of laughter, tears, and perseverance. Most days I don't even recognize her anymore. But what I see is not just my body—it is the weight of generations of shame, comparison, and silent battles.

Body image is complex for any woman, but for a survivor of childhood sexual trauma, it is an open wound, a scar that never quite fades. My body has been a source of pain, a battleground, a thing to disconnect from rather than embrace. I have spent most of my life hating my body and disconnecting from it. The enemy whispered that my worth was tied to what was taken from me, that I was damaged, that I would never be enough. And then came social media—a machine of illusion, feeding my deepest insecurities, reinforcing the lies I had spent years trying to unlearn. Add in fertility issues, a difficult pregnancy, a traumatic preemie birth and my body had failed me yet again.

I use to watch my own mother sigh at her reflection. I heard the criticisms—the way she pinched the skin on her waist, the way she spoke of “getting back” to the body she once had. She learned it from her mother and it was just passed down from generation to generation. I was watching. I was listening. And without knowing it, I was learning. Learning that a woman’s worth was tied to how much space she took up, that beauty was something to chase, that our bodies were something to fix.

I also learned something else: children are to be seen and not heard. It was a phrase spoken often, a message that shaped how I believed the world wanted me to exist. My appearance became more important than my thoughts, my silence more valued than my voice. And so, I learned to shrink—not just my body, but my presence, my opinions, my worth. If I looked the right way, maybe I could be enough. If I was pleasing to the eye, maybe then I mattered.

And then, I had a daughter.

My little girl, with her bright eyes and untamed joy, twirling in front of the mirror, delighting in her own reflection. She poked her belly and giggled. She stretched her arms wide and proclaimed, “I’m beautiful, Mama!” with a confidence that was so refreshing.

Her innocence was healing. She hadn’t yet learned to question her beauty. She hadn’t yet absorbed the lies. But she was watching me now, just as I had once watched my mother. The way I spoke about myself would become the voice inside her head. If I sighed at my reflection, she would one day sigh at hers. If I criticized my body, she would eventually criticize hers. And in that moment, I knew: I could not be my daughter’s first voice of doubt.

Motherhood forces you to confront the parts of yourself you wish you could ignore. Raising daughters means breaking generational chains, confronting the shame we have carried, and refusing to pass it down. It means healing ourselves so they never have to heal from us. "I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well." (Psalm 139:14) Telling myself that I am not beautiful, or worthy is like telling God that he didn't do a good job in creating me.

In that moment, I saw myself through her eyes. Not as a collection of flaws, but as a woman created in the image of God. A mother who gave her life. A survivor who carries scars but still stood tall. A daughter deeply loved by her Heavenly Father. "So God created mankind in His own image, in the image of God He created them; male and female He created them." (Genesis 1:27)

When He looks at me, He doesn’t see the shame I have carried. He sees the woman He redeemed, the body He created, the soul He calls precious.

So, I choose to believe Him.

I choose to break the cycle. I choose to be kind to myself, because being kind to my daughter demands it. I choose to speak love over my body, because the words I say today will become the voice she hears tomorrow. I choose to see myself through His eyes, because how I see myself will shape how she sees herself.

Actionable Steps for all of Us:

1. Speak Life Over Yourself: The words you say about your body will become the words your daughter hears in her own mind. Speak love, gratitude, and truth over yourself, even if at first you don't believe it. You will.

2. Model Self-Compassion: Your daughter is watching. Show her that imperfections do not define worth and that beauty is far deeper than appearance.

3. Reject Unrealistic Standards: Unfollow accounts that feed insecurity, limit social media exposure, and fill your life with voices that uplift rather than tear down. What goes in, is what comes out. Make sure it is truth giving, not soul sucking.

4. Encourage Her Strengths Beyond Appearance: Praise her kindness, intelligence, creativity, and heart more than her looks.

5. Break the Silence: Talk about insecurities, body image, and the lies culture tells us, and then remind her of God’s truth.

6. Pray Together: Pray over your body, her body, and the way you both see yourselves. Surrender the lies to the One who created you both beautifully and with purpose.

7. Seek Healing for Yourself: If childhood wounds are still shaping you, seek the help, therapy, or community you need. Healing yourself will allow you to better guide her.

   
   

Because when she looks at me, I want her to see a woman who walks in the confidence of Christ. A woman who knows she is deeply loved, wholly redeemed, and beautifully made. "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight." (1 Peter 3:3-4)

And when I look at her, I am reminded of the truth I am still learning to believe—that I am too am beautifully and wonderfully made.

Prayer: Heavenly Father,

Thank You for creating us in Your image, for forming us with intention, beauty, and purpose. Help us to see ourselves as You see us—fearfully and wonderfully made. Break the chains of insecurity, self-doubt, and generational shame that have bound us for too long. Teach us to walk in confidence, not in the standards of this world, but in the truth of Your love.

Lord, guide us as we raise our daughters. Let our words, actions, and hearts reflect Your grace so that they grow up knowing their worth is rooted in You alone. Help us to heal the wounds of our past so that we do not pass them down. Fill our hearts with gratitude for these bodies that have carried us through trials, motherhood, and life itself. May we honor You by treating ourselves with kindness, respect, and love.

In Jesus’ Name,

Amen.