This was it.
This was the summer my beautiful, strong, amazing daughter decided she wasn’t good enough.
My girl who used to not be able to get her bathing suit on fast enough and get to the beach suddenly dressed slower, on vacation, because she was worried about how she looked in that suit and found herself lacking.
And it broke my heart.
My daughter is tall. She’s solid. She’s strong. She is beautiful.
Her friends are all smaller and slighter and willowy and, as I watch her with them, I’m starting to see her slouch and hunch and hide.
“Stand up!” I want to yell. She has nothing to hide.
I want to shake her and tell her that I always wanted to be tall, like her. I want her to know that when she grows up, women will be dying to have her height.
My girl is smart. So freaking smart.
She is funny and kind. So kind.
She is the best person I know and when I grow up, I want to be her.
This is the summer that broke my heart because I remember her standing proudly in that bathing suit, racing down the beach, not giving any thought at all to how she, or anyone else, looked.
And I know that, like the Emperor who saw that he was naked, once you cross that line, you can never go back.