I have acne scars on my face.
That's just the way it is. I'm a redhead with very fair skin, and it has always been that any mark of any kind on my body just stays. I have scars from the chicken pox when I was five years old. I had surgery when I was eleven years old that left huge puffy scars on my ankle that didn't fully heal for years.
But my face is different. It is the thing people look at when they talk to me. It is the one place no one wants to have scars. And yet, I am no longer a teenager and I am blessed with marks on my face. It is kind of a terrible thing.
I don't wear makeup that often, since I spend most days taking care of my children, running errands, doing the mom thing. It's not that important. But on Sundays, I wear makeup, and I spend a little extra time to look nice.
Josie has taken interest lately in my makeup routine. When she sees me pull down my makeup box, she will sit down in front of the mirror with me and look at every piece. Sometimes I'll put a little blush on her or spray a tiny bit of perfume for her. It's a bonding thing. I used to do it with my mom. I could peer into her world and catch her when she was sitting still in one place for more than one minute.
Josie has also taken interest lately in my acne scars. She has asked why I have scratches on my face. She'll touch my face softly with a concerned look, furrowed eyebrows. Usually I'll just say that it's okay, the scratches don't hurt and change the subject. Earlier this week, she kept asking me about it, and I was having a particularly bad day. I told her that it hurt my feelings to talk about it, because I don't like my scratches, and I didn't want to talk about it anymore.
Today, as I was putting on my makeup, she asked me again about my scratches. Then she asked why they disappeared when i put my makeup on. I almost told her I didn't want to talk about it anymore, like I did the other day. Instead, I changed the conversation. It went something like this:
"Mommy, you have scratches on your face."
"Yes, I do."
"I can't see them with your makeup on."
"I know. But you know what? I am still beautiful with my scratches. I like my face with scratches."
"Yeah, I like it, too."
"It's okay to have scratches, Josie."
Most women struggle with body image issues. I myself was very anorexic in junior high. I am no stranger to dangerous self hate when it comes to looks. And to be honest, most days I do not feel beautiful. But that does not matter. What matters is that I tell my daughter that I think I am beautiful. Not only does she need to know that I think that, but also that I LIKE my face the way it is. I have outlawed the words "ugly" and "fat" in our home (reading "The Ugly Duckling" gets a little difficult!). If my daughter can see that I am unhappy with how I look, what message does that send to her? Am I lying to her that I think I am beautiful? Maybe. But maybe that lie helps me a little, too. It is never a bad thing to be more self aware.
I didn't think the conversation meant much to Josie. She ran out of the room shortly after to do something else. Tonight after dinner, she was pretending to be an ice skater. She was twirling all over the living room, delirious with laughter. She slowed down for a second and looked at her arm for a second and saw a scratch. She said very plainly:
"I have a scratch, but I am still a great dancer."
And then she twirled and whirled some more.
