I will never forget the moment I heard the words. They weren’t even spoken to me directly, but they cut me in a way I can’t describe.

Hearing how another woman had future fat-shamed my daughter by saying, “What if she gets fat like her mum when she has children?” And then, as if that wasn’t enough, adding, “What if she’s infertile like her mum was?” The words were profoundly hurtful, and I was disgusted that a woman I had once called a friend could say something so deeply misogynistic.

Future fear. Not only was she reducing my worth to my size, but she was also planting the idea in my daughter’s mind that her body, her future, was something to dread. That it could betray her. That it could make her less in the eyes of others.

I saw my daughter’s face, the way she shrank into herself, as if she had been branded with an expectation she had never considered. But it wasn’t just the words that hurt her, it was the burden of carrying them. When she finally told me what had been said, she was devastated, as if speaking the cruel words out loud somehow made them more real. It broke my heart. I wanted to protect her from the weight of those words, to erase the pain they had caused. But the damage was already done.

This story isn’t just about me and my daughter; it’s about something far larger, a pattern that has been repeated for thousands of years: women being judged, reduced, and devalued based on their appearance and their ability to bring forth life.

The comment reminded me of Hannah in the Bible. A woman of deep faith, mocked relentlessly because she couldn’t conceive. In her time, a woman’s worth was tied to her ability to have children, just as today, a woman’s worth is often tied to her weight, her beauty, or her ability to conform to impossible standards. Hannah was tormented by Peninnah, another woman who took every opportunity to make her feel small, broken, less than.

Isn’t that exactly what happens today? Instead of fertility, we judge weight. Instead of barrenness, we shame aging. Instead of lifting each other up, too many women perpetuate the cycle of misogyny by choosing to wound rather than to heal.

But Hannah’s story didn’t end in shame. She refused to let the world define her by what she lacked. She poured out her pain in prayer and found strength in who she was beyond the labels society placed on her. That’s what I want for my daughter. For all of us.

Because the truth is, my worth is not measured by my appearance, or how my body has failed me. My daughter’s worth is not tied to her body. And no woman should ever feel less because of the opinions of others.

Women should be lifting each other up, not tearing each other down. We should respect each other enough to stop using identity as a weapon. We need to break the cycle of shame, reject the idea that our value is tied to appearance, and stand together against the kind of misogyny that has been passed down for far too long.

Hannah’s worth wasn’t in her ability to conceive, and our worth isn’t measured by our appearance. True beauty is found in the depth of our character. It’s in kindness, compassion, resilience, and the courage to stand against judgment. Real beauty isn’t how we look, it’s how we love, how we lead ourselves, and how we lift others.

That woman’s words may have hurt, but they will not define my daughter. They will not define me. And they will not define the future we choose to create.