“I’m not struggling, though. I’m happy with myself. I know eating extremely healthy and exercising a ton has helped you deal with a lot of painful stuff, but it’s not for me. Just because I like to wear comfortable clothes doesn’t mean I hate my body.”

Mom gets quiet and I hope my honesty didn’t make her feel bad. I’ve always used humor as a shield to hide how much her words can hurt. I’ve never been vulnerable with her about this before. Her silence leaves me feeling exposed and nervous and I debate whether I should have said anything at all.

“I only want what’s best for you, Kara,” she eventually says. “I want you to find real love and get married and have a family and it’s going to be so much harder for you to get there if you’re not confident within yourself. Losing your dad made me see how fast life goes by and I don’t want you to waste any more time.”

I take a second and her words sink in, heavy and honest. “I know that you love me and you’re coming from a good place, but your opinion means so much to me. I’m never going to be fully confident or think that I’m good enough until you do, too.”

Mom looks at me and I have the intense instinct to say that I’m kidding, that I haven’t been grasping for her approval for most of my life and she should forget everything I just said.

But I say nothing. Instead, seconds pass by in silence until Mom folds her hands in her lap.

“I never meant to hurt you,” she says. “You and Jen make me proud every day and if I didn’t make that clear, then that’s my fault. I’ll try to do better.”

It’s not often that my mom offers an apology, and to be honest, it kind of freaks me out.

“It’s okay,” I quickly reply. “I’ll be better, too. If I layer up those tank tops I bet they’d look great...with a sweater.”

Her cheeks pull back in a smile and I exhale a breath of relief. I’ve always been terrified of confrontation. If we ever had an actual argument, I’d probably run out of the room screaming.

“And how are you doing?” I ask.

“Me? I’m fine.” I keep looking at her and for the first time in a long time, I see a crack in her steel demeanor. “You know,” she goes on to say, “I have my good days and my bad days.”

“I’m the same way.”