There’s a theory that you shouldn’t tell little girls they’re beautiful. I think about it all the time, when I’m telling my daughters that they’re beautiful. The theory is that commenting on a girl’s appearance will tell her that she’s only valuable for how she looks or she’ll give up every other skill she possesses to just glide through life on her appearance. I guess not telling girls that they’re pretty as kids will keep them from either being narcissists or flirting their way through life to get what they want instead of relying on their actual skills.

Honestly, I don’t get it.

When I was growing up, I don’t think I ever set foot inside my church without someone telling me that I was pretty. And we were there at least 3 times a week between church, youth group, youth choir, chime practice & whatever Wednesday night happened to be. It’s not that I was a stunning child - I have the photos to prove that I went through the same homely, middle ages that everyone does. But being told I was pretty is one of my strongest memories of my early years. There were probably lots of factors that helped: I was one of the only girls my age and had to run around with the boys at church. My parents made us dress up in our Sunday Best every week. (It was church of course!) And we were well behaved. (Again, church. There was no other option.) A lot of the comments were probably conversations starters. What else do you say to a 9 year old when you’re 47? And many of them were actually comments to my parents, which were probably also conversation starters of a different kind.

Am I saying I didn’t believe them? Absolutely not. Especially at the time. I thrived on the compliments and loved hearing it. I tucked every single “pretty” away in my pocket and kept them there in a precious pile. I attribute a lot of my self-confidence in my young adult life to those initial compliments, confirmations if you will, that I could go back to when I needed a boost. Growing up with affirmation made me a more secure adult. (As adult as one is in your 20’s.)

But I also needed them then. I was a good kid so the teachers always liked me. I had my group of friends and loved being a cheerleader and dancer. I sang solos at church and lived out my faith more courageously than any other time in my life. But it was still middle school and I was anything but the “it” girl. I needed those compliments, to be told that I was beautiful. I needed them to counterbalance being called Wolverine because of my hairy arms and legs. I needed to hear them when the bus conversations about my unibrow and mustache were too loud and too constant in my ears. I needed a voice that said “You are beautiful” when so many voices told me I wasn’t.

Do women put too much focus on their appearance? Sure. Do we tie too much of our identity to what we look like? Absolutely. I won’t make a blanket statement that every woman cares about her image but I’m guessing that most of us have to face this demon on some level. I will admit, it is a very real struggle for me every day to look in the mirror and not only see the flaws. One of my perpetual battles is disconnecting who I am from what I accomplish, what others think of me and how I look. They’re all tied together (Enneagram 3) but I do not believe that the compliments I received on my appearance caused this insecurity. On the contrary, the compliments I received helped me fight the negative, unkind voices that rang in my mind long after I got off that bus. They helped me when I entered high school and the mistreatment I endured there made me long for the teasing of middle school, as painful as it was at the time. God had his work cut out for him to bring me through those dark years. I can’t imagine how it could have ended if I hadn’t had words of life spoken over me to deafen the cruelty.

The compliments were a gateway to seeing good in myself. They allowed me to look in the mirror and see beauty, learn positive self-talk and build my confidence. They taught me how to discern which voices I would believe, to claim the true ones and shut out the lies. And that skill has proven only more important with every single year I’m here. It’s the first step in seeing myself how God sees me instead of listening to photoshopped supermodels, skincare companies or the mirror as age naturally happens.

I’ll keep telling my daughters that they’re beautiful. Every day. I tell them that they’re strong and smart and kind. I thank God for making them funny and sensitive and full of joy. I comment on the good things they do to encourage their values of kindness, generosity and compassion. I praise them for using their skills to learn new things, accomplish what was hard or break a harmful pattern. But I look them in the eyes and tell them. Because I want them to believe it. Because one day, some prick will them otherwise. And I want their heads to be so full of positivity and confidence and love that hateful, mean comments are nothing more than faint echoes in their ears that never ring loud enough to sink in. I know they’ll get their fair share of seeing their shortcomings under a microscope so I’ll do anything I can to get them to see themselves how I see them. So they can learn to see themselves how their creator designed them. Perfectly, beautifully and intentionally.

“All beautiful you are, my darling. There is no flaw in you.”
Song of Solomon 4:7

You’re gorgeous. That is what God sees when He looks at you. And you deserve to hear it.