Something happened.

When our eyes met, she shifted and suddenly, her body was pressed tightly against mine. With one hand pulling her closer and the other holding a pen to sign her out of the afterschool program, I prepared myself.

“There was an incident,” the teacher said quietly.

Interrupting, my daughter wailed, “That boy over there called you FAT!  And I was SO sad that I went into the other room and cried.” For added proof, she shoved the picture into my hands she had drawn of herself crying.

Words have power and deep meaning; they should be used with care. I’m probably pickier about words than the average person.  In our home, fat is one of the prohibited words because, well, why use it when you can say “big” or “round” to describe someone’s size without completely insulting them.

My daughter has known this for years. Armed with that knowledge, she explained that the thought of my feelings being hurt, hurt her. (It was both heartwarming and alarming that she felt I needed defending or protecting.)

A year ago, there was similar incident. When I heard that a first grader in my daughter’s class called me fat, I worried my size might be an embarrassment to her. Neither of these kids had teased HER (or me, really … they simply described me as fat), but … you know, there are a gazillion articles in Weight Watchers magazine about the mothers who became motivated to lose weight because they were afraid of embarrassing their child.

My daughter was adamant (then AND now) she wasn’t embarrassed; I wasn’t entirely convinced.

Most of my life I’ve been large and many times I’ve felt embarrassed about that. Despite my conscious efforts to project a positive body image (even when I had to fake it), it only made sense my daughter, too, might be embarrassed by my size. I had no evidence of that, though.

So a year ago, I decided to speak to her teacher about the incident, with my daughter present, realizing it was a perfect opportunity to set an example for her and show her that I was a confidant woman, regardless of my size.

But the truth was, that whole scenario stung a little.

It took courage to even mention the situation and request that the class discuss how people come in all shapes, colors, and sizes. The teacher was supportive and encouraging. And though I stood tall with an easy, wide smile that would’ve fooled anyone into believing I was the Queen of Confidence, I felt that very confidence shrink. Even if just by a few inches.

I listened to the teacher say I was special, wore cute clothes, and was always shiny and sparkly. I was suspicious. Was she trying to validate me? I wondered if somehow those qualities – in her eyes – made up for my ample size.  You know, the whole: “She might be fat, but she’s a shiny, happy fat person!” (Negative self-talk anyone?)

…But last week, as I listened to my daughter blurt out the similar story, I noticed something was missing.

There was no slight sting.

There was no shrinking of confidence.

Most profoundly, there was no shame.

Instead, there was a sense of centered calm and lightheartedness from being unaffected in a negative or self-deprecating way, unlike many times before. In that moment, all fear, hesitation, and embarrassment about my body was gone. Simply gone.

I felt free.

Bemused, I hugged my daughter, genuinely smiled, and let out a belly laugh. “Honey, I AM big. It’s OK. It’s an accurate description. But it doesn’t change anything. I’m still awesome.” My daughter loosened her grip and smiled.

“That’s what I told her! I told her how great your hair is,” the teacher excitedly chimed in, twisting her fingers…

It seemed ridiculous and humorous that a dramatic production around the word “fat” took place. (Which, clearly I inspired because of my hate of the word.)

The fact is: I’m fat!

But so what?

Being fat, in-between, or thin says nothing about who I am.

Or you. 

My value is not determined by numbers on a scale, a graph, or a tape measure.

I’m a rather spectacular and unique woman regardless of my size.

And so are YOU.

Do I want to feel physically stronger and more agile? Absolutely.

Am I my ideal size (for myself)? Nope.

Am I going to hold off recognizing my worth and meanwhile live timidly, quietly, as though I don’t deserve to be happy – and shiny! – until I AM stronger and more agile and weigh less? Uh, hell, no!

I’m not a spring chicken anymore.  Life is short, full of wonder, and I want to enjoy it. Despite how big my thighs, ass, and tummy are.

Thin does not own joy.

Our daughters need to see us fully embrace our inner and outer beauty. They deserve to get messages that stick their tongues out at society’s that tell us we’re unworthy, unattractive, unimportant, and unlovable if we don’t look a certain way.

It’s OK to accept and love ourselves. Exactly the way we are. Right now.

So what caused this change?

I’m not exactly sure.

But I do have more clarity about who I am, what my gifts are, and what my purpose is. Those truths don’t fluctuate with my weight. They remain constant under all circumstances.

And I know this: We are all important, invaluable, rare, and beautiful.

I kissed my daughter on her cheek and proudly – truly proudly – announced, “No matter what size I am, I’m super amazing.”

She, with a glistening smile added, “And magic, too, mom!”

…Oh, yes.

Something happened.

Something big, fat, juicy, voluptuous, Rubenesque, curvy, and sumptuous has happened.

And I like it.