Loving my mama's skin

May 9, 2017

On Me: Dress: Abercrombie + Fitch, Heels: Steve Madden, (so comfortable!), J.Crew Hoops, Sunnies: Ray-Ban,
On Mom: Old, (similar), Jeans: Levi's, Wedges: Clarks, (similar)

I know weird title right? Why would I love my mama's skin? Today's a special day, today's my mama's birthday and I want to share a story. Let's rewind 16 years, I was 10 and I started to realize my body was changing. It was at that age I started to compare my body with other girls I knew. I was a fifth grader wondering why I wasn't taller, skinnier, more athletic, wondering why I wasn't wearing a training bra yet and why I didn't use deodorant. I was a kid but, not only did I start comparing how I looked to others, I wondered why my mom didn't look like the other moms. She was shorter, not as athletic or skinny. She was a hard-working educator that worked a full time job, proud of her stretch marks and her "football player" shoulders -- that's what she calls them. She focused on providing for us, loving us with all her might and always putting herself on the back burner. I wondered why she didn't look like Rebecca's mom or Laura's mom. Her lifestyle was different than Rebecca's mom and Laura's mom; her image wasn't everything to her, and she also wasn't a personal trainer like Rebecca's mom. The older I got I wondered why wouldn't my mom want to be like those moms, and then the older I got the more I realized there was more to her than her outside. I understood her priorities and what made her do what she did. It was us, it was my brother and I. She loved herself inside and out, she wasn't worried about her image, she'd worry about us, she'd laugh with us, she'd love us and it was I who had a problem with myself. The older I get the more I look like her; I have her "football player" shoulders, her small waist, her arms, her smile, her eyes, her infectious laugh. And I love it. I love her. I love her skin, because her skin is my skin. I love the skin I'm in.

Xo,
Maia



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