stepped out of photographs if too much skin was visible.
She once deleted seventy-three pictures from my phone because she
thought the marks on her shoulder made her look “wrong.”
That word broke my heart.
Wrong.
There was nothing wrong with my daughter.
Her dermatologist had explained her condition to us carefully.
We had discussed treatment options when medically appropriate.
We had also made sure Maya understood that treatment was her choice when
it concerned appearance.
Her body was not a family renovation project.
Still, I could not protect her from every stare.
So when we went to Florida that summer and Maya walked onto the beach
wearing a yellow two-piece swimsuit, I nearly cried.
She stood beside me outside our rental house near Clearwater Beach.
Her hands were shaking.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I’m tired of hiding.”
I looked at her.
She forced a nervous smile.
“I’ve decided to accept myself.”
