Sophie pushes my words away. I may have wrinkles, but they’re not important to her. They’re a blur. Insignificant. She sees different things. To her, I’m beautiful. So I smile.
I also adjust my position as I say, ‘Think thin!’ And Sophie replies, ‘You’re not fat.’ No, even though I’m not as slim as I used to be, my teenage daughter doesn’t notice. To her, I’m fine the way I am.
How often do we criticise ourselves? Feel dissatisfied with how we look? Do we wish we looked younger, prettier, slimmer, fitter? It’s sometimes hard to accept ourselves just the way we are. I wonder why we worry about our appearance. Is it because we’re concerned about what other people think of us? ‘Sue is looking old. She’s let herself go. She’s put on weight. She’s not the person she used to be.’ Should I feel ashamed?
Sometimes we not only find it difficult to accept ourselves, we also have trouble accepting our kids. We have our own ideas about who they should be and what they should do.
We might feel disappointed. We could try to change our children. But, of course, we need to accept them the way they are, because if we don’t, those niggling unaccepting feelings will intrude upon our love. And our kids need that unconditional love. If they do indeed have any flaws, it’s love that will dissolve them away so that they become the people they are meant to be.
Accepting our kids as they are can be difficult. Where do we begin?
I wrote these words in my book Radical Unschool Love: ‘… So how can we more easily accept our kids? Perhaps we can start by accepting ourselves. Our kids are wonderfully unique people. And so are we.’
My daughter Sophie took these photos of her beautiful mother. They’re photos of me.
Something Extra
Here’s the Radical Unschool Love story that I quoted above:
Accepting Ourselves and Our Kids
One day, many years ago, when I was in the supermarket with several of my children, I met a mother with a girl of about seven. As I reached past the woman to get a packet off the shelf, she looked at my youngest child and said, “Your baby might be beautiful now, but just you wait!” She then turned towards her daughter and said, “She’s a little poisonous bunch-back’d toad! I’ll be glad when she goes back to school.”
The mother was stressed out, and although I felt sorry for her daughter, I also felt sorry for her. What had gone wrong? The daughter who’d started life as a perfect princess had turned into a poisonous toad, at least in the eyes of her parent.
Now we might not tell strangers our children are toads, but I’m sure most of us have sighed loudly, at one time or another, and complained about them to our friends.
“If only she were more outgoing or adventurous. She won’t try anything new.”
“If only he were less boisterous or impulsive. I can’t keep up with him. He’s driving me crazy.”
“If only she weren’t such a daydreamer. She wastes her time instead of getting on with her work.”
“If only he weren’t so stubborn. He won’t listen to me or do anything I say.”
“If only he weren’t so reserved. He doesn’t want to join in. People think he’s very unfriendly.”
Somehow our perfect babies turned into imperfect children. Or maybe we just got picky. Could we have had our own ideas about how our kids were going to grow and develop? Do we feel disappointed? Or maybe we just worry about our kids. If only they were different, their pathways through life would be easier. Our job would be easier too.
Of course, we have to accept our kids exactly as they are, even if we think they have faults. We may be right about those faults. But then again, we may be wrong. Faults or no faults, it doesn’t matter. It’s not our job to criticise and pull our kids down.
So how do we get back to appreciating who our children are? How do we put aside all our silly preferences and worries and accept the wonderful unique beings we are privileged to have as part of our families? Maybe part of the answer is wrapped up in ourselves.
Yesterday, I bought a new pair of running shorts. When I got home from the shops, I drew them out of my bag and waved them in front of my family saying, “Look! I found some longer shorts that will cover my old legs. They’ll hide my wrinkly skin.”
One of my girls said, “But Mum, you haven’t got wrinkly legs.”
I sighed and disagreed.
I’m always moaning about some part of me that’s not quite right. I often complain about my appearance. I’m getting older, I don’t look like I used to, and I’m not happy about that.
My latest lament: “Quinn’s wrinkly face is very cute. I wish my wrinkles were considered attractive.” (Quinn is our Shar Pei/Great Dane dog.)
My body’s heading downhill at a furious rate. Or at least that’s what I think. And I’m finding that hard to accept. Maybe that’s because I can still hear the voices from my childhood telling me I’m just not good enough the way I am.
But this morning, as I ran around the park with two grinning dogs at my side, I wasn’t worried about my wrinkly old legs. Instead, I was thinking, “I’m glad I have strong legs that can run.” And maybe that’s the answer to my problem: I should concentrate on what I am grateful for, the good bits about being me, and ignore the bits that make me feel unsettled and unhappy. It may turn out that all the things I moan about are insignificant. Maybe I’ve been giving them more space in my head than they deserve.
And perhaps we shouldn’t allow any negative thoughts about our kids to enter our heads either. We certainly shouldn’t voice them out loud to other people. Instead, we can go looking for all the wonderful qualities that our children have. Concentrate on these and ignore the things that niggle us because it might turn out that we’re not looking properly. We’re focusing our attention in the wrong direction. All those faults and flaws that we think are so important might dissolve quietly away under the influence of unconditional love.
So how can we more easily accept our kids? Perhaps we can start by accepting ourselves. Our kids are wonderfully unique people. And so are we.
Of course, my appearance is a very superficial problem. Probably it would have been better to have shared a story about one of my many character faults. But I think my ageing problem illustrates the point I want to make even if it’s not very important.
Just in case you’re wondering, the woman in the supermarket didn’t really call her daughter a poisonous bunch-back’d toad. I used this Shakespearean insult because I didn’t want to repeat the woman’s unkind word.
If you haven’t already bought a copy of either Radical Unschool Love or Curious Unschoolers, will you check them out? If I sell some unschooling books, I can continue to pay for my blog and podcast hosting fees!
