But that is not what I remember

Looking through old pictures last night I wondered where I was?

Where was the big plain child?  Where was the fat dumpy woman? 

I see a beautiful little girl with big eyes and such a hopeful face.  Not much bigger or smaller than all her classmates, just an average child in average situations.

But that is not what I remember.

I see a dark eyed young woman cradling her children, protective and loving.  Her eyes are big and deep and dark.  Her face animated and alive.

But that is not what I remember.

I remember the criticism, the feeling of being hopelessly tall and big and unbeautiful.  My children were what gave me joy, what gave me hope, what kept me alive when the woman under that façade looked in the mirror and saw the seeds that had been planted so deeply they blinded her for most of her life.

I didn't know.  I had no idea.  And it colored my world in ways you cannot imagine. 

But I am one of the lucky ones.  Someone came into my life and gently removed the scales from my eyes. Someone who taught me that love is not conditional. It does not have to make me less so it can be more.  Someone who taught me that I am loved and beautiful just because I am.

That is what I remember now.