Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

It was bedtime. I'd just performed a third rendition of my four year old daughter's favorite storybook about dump trucks and was valiantly trying to shuffle her towards the rocking chair. Her moon shaped night light cast a muted glow on the carpet and the crooning melodies of Nora Jones wavered hesitantly from the player on her dresser. We settled into the antique with a mutual groan and as I snuggled her soft head under my chin, she reached up to pat my cheek affectionately.

"Momma..." she murmured into the darkness.

"Yes, bug." I echoed.

"I wish you looked more like Snow White," she responded sleepily.

Flabbergasted, I responded with something I hoped sounded like casual amusement. After she had been tucked in for the tenth time, I scooted out into the hall and down the stairs, fuming and distressed. I am a self proclaimed feminist and an avid buyer of gender neutral toys. I am always the first person to remind my daughter that princess is not a job. Her bookshelves are carefully absent of references to royalty, her closet a riot of every color but pink. How did we end up here despite my diligence?

The answer is simple, of course. Princess syndrome, in all its little innocuous ways, is everywhere.

It's in the supermarket checkout lane, in the casual compliments of strangers, in the subtext of a thousand cartoon plots. It is our culture and the battle for my daughter's self esteem is vitally shaped by her exposure to it. I often remind myself that however toxic those influences might be, however prevalent, I am still in charge.

As her Momma, I am her sun and her moon, her stars and the very earth that grounds her. I am the most powerful example of what a woman can and should be that she will ever have.

And I have to stay patient and vigilant and use that superpower for good. If you find yourself struggling with princess syndrome in your own child's life, these are the things I've found as an educator and a parent that have had the greatest impact. May the odds be ever in your favor.

1: Talk About It

You could attempt to build yourself a princess-free island, isolated from all references to girls with pale skin and flowing hair encased in castles and crowns. Good luck to you with that. In my experience, this is an utterly futile effort. And even if you could be successful in the early years, you run the risk of smacking into it head on later, when your aversion makes it seem more desirable to a willful tween. I don't encourage all things princess, but I don't avoid it either. What I strive for is to use exposure as an opportunity for open dialogue. You'd be surprised what a productive conversation you can have by simply posing this question.

"So what do princesses do all day? What is their job?"

2: Offer Alternatives

While we may not be able to sweep fantasies about royalty under the proverbial rug, as parents we can certainly act as powerful counter influences. Surround your child with positive, affirming stories, toys and examples of women in meaningful roles in society. The most natural and successful way to do this is to pick up on an interest and run with it. Turn an affection for ladybugs and butterflies into an opportunity to explore a career in entomology. Crowd your windowsill with jars for experiments and teach your budding scientist how to create an observation journal and people it with drawings and studies of insects.

3: Model It

Nope. Not referring to heading down the runway. In this case, the single most important thing we can do as parents is to model the behavior change we'd like to see. Often, kids are simply mimicking us in ways we have failed to recognize, a thousand minuscule clues we've dropped along the way. If we want our kids to envision their lives as strong, capable, confident people, they need to know what that looks and sounds like. Stop fussing with your hair, encourage comfort and functionality in your clothing, and make sure you praise action and not appearance in your kid's life. So often, the very first thing strangers or even family members comment on when my daughter enters a room is what she is wearing. They mean well. They might even know better. But it comes out of their mouth nevertheless, as automatic as a reflex. We all have to do better.

Photo courtesy of Achim Soelter Photography

I was in a second-hand store just the other day when I saw a gem. An old-fashioned hand mirror, heavy enough to be a deadly weapon. The kind that used to adorn a thousand dressers and bathroom counters but has since been replaced by full length reflections that span entire walls. It reminded me of my daughter's comment and I bought it and mounted it in her bedroom right above the rocking chair.

As a small reminder that the mirror is one piece of the way you are reflected back into the world, just the tiniest peek. Determining who we are is up to us, not the mirror.

And I have every confidence that someday, she will gaze into it without the slightest hope of seeing a princess waiting there for happily ever after.

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