I'd Tell Her

My mom visited this past weekend, and with her she brought my entire file from our family filing cabinet so that any of my important records would be on my side of the country if I needed them. Sounds nice, right?

I was perusing its contents when I came across some old pictures of me from my first orthodontist's records pre-braces. They were mugshot style with no smiling, and I remember taking them. I was nine.

When I first saw them, I smiled and thought I looked like such a cute little human. But the more I looked, remembering what being nine felt like (especially before braces), the sadder I felt for that little girl. She was so self-conscious and already felt so much shame about her thin hair and her freckles and her shyness. I wanted to reach out to her, to write her a letter, something.

I'd tell her she's beautiful, that the tan girls on TV were either faking it or would be regretting their decision a couple years down the road. Freckles would be "the thing to have" soon enough, and her thinner hair gives her the freedom to experiment with it in fun ways to find just the right style.

I'd tell her all of that stuff is true and great, but even so, getting boys' attention at this age wouldn't be best in the long run anyway. I wish I could describe to her how looking too adult too early can hinder a girl's childhood and life thereafter, teaching her to use her looks to get what she wants and never learning how to build her character, or exercise her intelligence, or explore her creativity. I wish I could describe the profound gift it ends up being to have been "left out" of that attention. I'd remind her how she discovered her ear for music, and her sense of humor with her friends, and explored the realms of her imagination while the pretty girls were learning how to flirt and gossip on the playground.

I'd tell her she's learning how to be strong, learning the kind of strength it takes to stay resilient in this kind of life. I'd describe how she's being molded for a deep purpose, and all her thinking and dreaming and listening and watching will help her hit the ground running toward that purpose while others have been distracted. I'd celebrate her sensitive heart and her love of serving others. I'd try to break open her nine-year-old perspective and give her an aerial view of her life and the world, help her see the context of her story in the bigger picture. Peel away the Disney shows and surrounding lies that enchanted her with a life completely revolving around her as the heroine. Tell her to believe me when I say it is so very much a good thing that isn't her life. Also that anyone who leads her to believe their life is like that is lying.

I'd tell her she'll be a late bloomer, and that will be hard, but it will make her who she is for the rest of her life. She would eventually grow into her body and into society with her soul already seasoned and wise. She would suddenly be one of the pretty girls she'd always envied, but she'd have the personality and character most of them never worked on. She'll feel solid and stable because she was developed from the inside out.

I'd tell her to never settle. To trust her instincts. To be kind and to be generous, but to feel no shame in saying no or walking away. To test the boundaries and always question reality.

I'd tell her seventeen years later is a mighty fine view, even without perfect resolution or answered questions.

I'd tell her life is good, and that one day she'll believe it. She'll even look back on her childhood and bask in the goodness she wasn't even aware of at the time.

I'd tell her I remember her, I deeply know her, and that I'm getting to see her story redeemed.

I'd tell her we are loved more than we know. I'd tell her we'll be just fine.