Last week, my daughter was struggling with some big emotions. I brought out two long strings of large packing air cushions, one of her favorite ways to get her anger out, and we threw them at each other. She stole mine and popped them, taunting me with her long string of them while I pretended to whine and complain.
As she calmed down, she asked me to tickle her. As requested, I tickled her while she tried not to laugh. At nine years old, she doesn’t exactly know my struggles with my body, but she has certainly picked up on cues.
She asked if she could tickle me, and I said yes. For the first time, she really tickled me—first in my armpits. I laughed and squirmed—I planned to exaggerate it to amuse her, but I found that I had no need to exaggerate! She moved to my chest, which has felt like a safe area after top surgery. A flat chest, finally—one that feels like it’s mine.
Without consciously understanding, she knew to avoid my stomach. I have always tried to move subtly in the past, so that her hand never rested there while she snuggled in my lap. I don’t think she picked up on it, exactly, but I still think she learned that it was an area where I would flinch away from any touch.
But this time, I didn’t move. She touched my stomach and tickled me, and I was able to be present with her. I had moments where I was overcome by shame, moments where I “left” my body, and one time when I cried out because the experience was foreign and terrifying. Fortunately, my crying out in distress wasn’t distinguishable from the laughter, and I persisted.
I persisted because it was also wonderful. I was able to be present with her, to experience this one small thing, something that was not a small thing at all for me.
What will she learn from this? Could this protect her from shame she feels about her own body? She complains so much when people tease her for her small stature and slim build. Last year, as she began to cross the stage with her second grade class, the person behind me whispered to their partner, “Look at her—she’s a tiny one!” They claim the right to comment on her body.
Can I show her that those unwanted judgments of her body don’t have to affect how she feels about herself? She can stand up for herself and tell others to stop, but she also does not need to internalize those comments, as I have done myself for so long.
Can I teach her what I never learned as a child?
We continue our “tickle war”, and I start to think of all the times like this that I have missed. All of the experiences I was too ashamed or afraid to have.
But then I stop. I think about the future. What new experiences do I have in store as I work to recover from the shame and to embrace my body and what it can do?
And then I come back to the present moment. To these wonderful few minutes with my child as we play and laugh.
I try to show her that we don’t need to be ashamed of our bodies.
And she—she shows me that we don’t need to be ashamed of our bodies.