…when I am not so sure how to be one myself?
I have contemplated this question for months. Actually, I have been obsessing about it since last June when I discovered I was having a girl. I have had issues with self-esteem and depression (usually related to my self-esteem) for as long as I can remember. As I get older, these issues have waned as I become more comfortable with who I am. Nevertheless, even on my most confident days the remnants of my awkward, adolescent self to peer out at me, shy, epically unsure of myself, complete with a face red from acne, incredibly thick glasses, some fine frizzy hair, and a lips-closed “smile” (to cover my braces). The day I found out my baby would be a “she,” I was completely overwhelmed with the weight of the responsibility of being her mother, knowing she will learn what it means to be a woman, for the most part, from me!
My DNA has already given her a couple of “gifts” including eczema, weird toes, a tendency to snore and mouth breathe when she sleeps, and according to the charts, she is already on the short side. Yet, the nurture, not the nature is what troubles me. Initially, I was paralyzed and frightened thinking of all the ways I could potentially mess her up based on my own neuroses. If I am not careful, I could teach her how to question whether she is actually a capable human being. If I am not vigilant, I could teach her how to wonder ceaselessly if she is worth being loved. If I am not audacious, I could teach her how to feel guilty for standing up for herself or worse, how to let people take advantage of her. If I am not courageous, I could teach her how to look at herself in the mirror and feel unhappy with who she is and wish with every fiber of her being that she were different. If I am not diligent, I could teach her to value herself for all of the wrong things and reasons.
After my initial freak out, I started to question what does being a woman even mean? Many of my issues stem from the attempt to fit into others’ definitions of femininity. I felt to be accepted, I needed to be conventionally pretty (nope), skinny (nope), a little dull (nope), and alluring (double nope, I literally have no wiles; I giggle like a schoolgirl every time I am mildly nervous). To be valued I thought I needed to be in a relationship, and in my quest for value, I just ended up in bad relationships or pseudo-relationships, which ultimately left me feeling unvalued. Not until I made peace with my cuteness, my roundness, my intelligence, my goofiness, my giggle, and not until I spent over a year purposefully avoiding relationships did I discover there is no definition of “woman.” Unfortunately, we women are bombarded with a gazillion definitions written by society, our peers, our families and our cultures, and we can never fully fulfill any of them.
I finally realized that although I do not fit any typical definitions, I am actually a more “typical” woman than I initially thought. Many, many other women have struggled with self-esteem and self-worth issues. I bet many of those women have found ways to raise strong young daughters who, although they may question themselves at times, are generally content with who they are. What is the trick? How do I give my daughter the strength I did not have until I was over 30? How do make sure she will not take on my failings and struggles but rather find her own (which of course she will find)?
As I regard my girl as she sleeps (and snores) in my lap, I am overwhelmed with love for her, and I think I have figured out the trick for showing her how to be a woman. I need to be the woman, but more importantly the human I hope she will become. I have an aunt who has three daughters and I am convinced my cousins are amazing young women because my aunt is amazing. From her I have learned that if I want my daughter to be open and honest, I must be accepting and talk to her about anything and everything. If I want her to be loving and kind, I must teach her how to be both. If I want her to be honorable, I must act with honor. If I want her to be strong but fair, and curious about the world, I must demonstrate these traits. If I want her to respect others, I must show her what respect means and try my best always to treat her with respect. If I want her to see herself through my loving eyes, I must not let her hear that I hate my stupid curly hair, or I wish I were skinnier. I must actually (and obviously) accept who I am so she can see how to treat herself in the same way. Whatever quality or habit I would like to instill in my sweet girl, I must first embrace myself. I must show her that being a woman is not necessarily about fulfilling any particular role or definition, and not about adopting the bravado of “this is who I am and if you don’t like it you can suck it” which often hides insecurities. I want her to be content with herself in an authentic way and define herself not by comparing herself to others, but by being herself. While this is daunting, I am finding now she is actually here, and I see her watching my every move, it is much easier to be the woman I have always wanted to be…
States Quo: it is truly courageous to accept one’s self, but finding that courage may take a while.
States Quo 
Altho I never had a child, I often thought about the possibility during my “mating years” and had these same anxieties! I thought god if I ever have a kid I pray it would be a boy so I wouldn’t transfer all my female-related neuroses onto my daughter and raise a creature that nervously picks at her cuticles until they bleed, can’t even look at a male without schizophrenic oscillation between adoration and hostility and without fail sees nought but a smear of unattractiveness in every mirror. But then I thought if it were a boy I’d just be mad at it for every slight sign of Infant Male Chauvinism (you know, chirping louder, demanding my attention more and pushing his sisters opens mouths aside at worm-feeding time). So you can’t win. Or they can’t win…or both.
Oh, fascinating Femininity! Charming childhood! What a freaking minefield of mishap, offering fresh new ways to feel bad about yourself at every turn. Wrought iron armor would seem a manditory back to school item, as well as personal training in taunt-stopping return-fire insults, not to mention powerful anti-venoms ministered regularly to keep the never-ending flow of toxic ad messages at bay. But all that stuff is just culture, messy confusing can’t live without it human culture, which all of us are forever imprinted by, for better or worse, and still manage to survive and even flourish in. Your gal need only a few well placed “look at how strong you are!” or “Sarah is just scared and that’s why she does that, she doesn’t really hate you” tidbits to fend off the vicissitudes of humanity and stand tall. Just the same as bundling her up on wintery days or making sure she’s done her homework.
Kinda like the internet, you get a lot of garbage along with the useful in our astonishingly complicated culture and have to weed through it. I suspect the key to successful weeding lies in unconditional love, that amazing universal balm that is super concentrated, like stain remover and chile pepper, so it takes surprisingly little to achieve amazing effects. That and some healthy awareness of where your old emotional pains stop and your child begins so you can minimize the projection of stuff that just confuses the crap out of them (and you). But even the inevitable odd bouts of psychotic projection can be alleviated by application of said love balm sprinkled with sweet apologies. And parents ARE allowed to apologize to kids without compromising the bulwark of absolute authority, aren’t they? Lindsey, that you even think of this stuff, let alone write it so eloquently here, is spreading love balm innoculant on Dot. Just keep talking, keep being honest with her and true to your heart. Love love love and the world, including your wonderful wee family, will be a richer place for it!
Kate,
Thank you so much for your response! The day we found out she was a she, I went to the bathroom at the doctor’s and totally lost it; I was so incredibly frightened that I just had to weep for a moment (or ten, or twenty). Like you said, I am hoping that reflection and awareness and questioning eventually allow me to get over my own issues, avoid that projection, and be purposeful in my interactions with her, showering her with that unconditional love. I truly cannot wait for you to meet her, because Auntie Kate is a wise woman indeed. I am truly fortunate to have so many amazing women in my life to whom I can introduce her; knowing women like you make me feel less alone in this quest of femininity and hopeful that, surrounded by so many wonderful women, she will more easily discover herself 🙂