I remember that red lollipop like I wasn't six-years-old then and 46 now. Before being bestowed that glistening cellophane-wrapped, ruby-red, cherry-sweet consolation prize, I was just a little kid trapped in a world of grown-ups who hated themselves for reasons they were too ill-equipped to identify.
As a mother to a teen daughter, one of my jobs is to build her self worth and body image up to a positive standard. I need to be selective on how I describe myself. I shouldn't say I'm fat or chubby or I don't like my thighs. I'm supposed to be all positive and empowering so she feels that way about her body, too. At least that's what I'm reading. Oops. I failed.