Finding Little Mo
This is me.
Me before I found out I was had to work to love myself, I just thought I deserved it.
Me before the world told me I was supposed to look a certain way.
Me before I saw my body as something to be valued for beauty. . . it was simply really good for climbing trees, catching frogs, and dancing to Rocky music in the carport.
This little wild one lived with reckless, wild, messy abandon. She was bruised and scraped and loud and watched The Sound of Music every single day.
And she's still in there somewhere.
She got older and taller and bigger and wore glasses. She was told she was too fat, too big, too smart, too loud.
So, she hid for awhile.
But, I'm coaxing her out again. I look at her and I adore her. I love her wild curls and bright grin. Look at those eyes, brilliant with joy and probably a song. I just want to hold her and love her and tell her she is one of the brightest souls I've ever met. She is creative and sparkly and smart and there are amazing things she's going to do in the world. I want to tell her that someday people will buy tickets to hear her tell them fairy tales, so keep talking to herself as she walks in the woods, that practice will pay off.
When I look at this Little Mo, I am filled with love. I don't want to wound her or judge her or crumple her at all.
I don't always seen myself with such kindness. But, God does. I think God still sees me as this little girl--so far from what she will become, but so wonderful as she gets there. I think He wants me to see myself that way. When I feel tempted to berate myself, I picture this Little Mo. I feel her inside of me, sweet, silly, and completely comfortable with where and who she is. And I remind myself: We are one.
If I wound one, I wound the other.
So, I breathe and I invite myself to be a little more gentle.
When I doubt I can do something, I remember that I am still this Little Mo--this wild tree climbing spirit who danced and laughed and played in the rainforest of Panama.
I can do anything I want.