How the way we care for our bodies becomes an inheritance

I used to think legacy was something you left behind: money, property, maybe a name. But over time, I’ve come to realise that the most enduring legacies are often invisible. They live in nervous systems. In habits. In the way a child learns to speak to their own body.

Health, I’ve learned, is one of them.

Not the curated kind we see online, you know the influencers with impossible bodies and six-packs, green juices, perfectly balanced plates but the quieter, more formative version. The one our children absorb simply by watching us live.

As a mum of two young girls, this has been of utmost importance to me as I watch them grow and learn the world. I read somewhere that Children learn health before they learn language

Long before children understand nutrition labels or workout routines, they are watching. They notice how we talk about our bodies in the mirror. They hear the sighs when clothes feel tight. They pick up on the tone we use when we say we “need to lose weight” or “start over on Monday.”

What We Model Becomes Their Normal

A mother who is constantly at war with her body teaches her child that bodies are problems to be fixed. A parent who oscillates between restriction and indulgence unintentionally teaches inconsistency. But a parent who treats their body with respect even in imperfection teaches safety.

And safety, more than aesthetics, is the foundation of lifelong health.

We often focus on what we tell our children eat your vegetables, drink water, go outside but the deeper lessons come from what we demonstrate.

Do they see us resting without guilt?
Do they see movement as punishment or as joy?
Do they hear us speak kindly to ourselves after a long day?

Children learn whether health is rooted in love or in shame by watching how we relate to ourselves when no one is applauding.

This is where legacy begins, not in perfection, but in consistency and compassion.

Many of us grew up in environments where bodies especially women’s bodies were scrutinised, criticised, and compared. Food was moralised. Thinness was praised. Strength was overlooked. Rest was earned, not given. I grew up as an overweight teenager in the era of America’s Next Top Model (omg! Tyra was vile with the comments) and magazines promoting thinness.

Healing means deciding that these cycles end with us.

Not by becoming obsessive about wellness, but by choosing balance. By eating well without fear. By moving without punishment. By allowing our bodies to change through seasons without self-rejection.

When children grow up in homes where health is neutral and supportive, not extreme then they are far more likely to develop sustainable habits that last into adulthood.

What We Say in Passing Matters

Sometimes it’s the smallest comments that land the hardest.

“I look so old.”
“I shouldn’t eat this.”
“I hate my arms.”

These phrases often slip out without thought, but they linger. A child doesn’t just hear the words but they absorb the posture behind them.

Choosing to pause, reframe, or even stay silent can be a radical act of love. Saying, “My body is tired today, so I’m going to rest,” teaches self-attunement. Saying, “I’m grateful my body carried me through today,” teaches appreciation.

These moments become the scripts our children repeat later and sometimes decades later when we are no longer in the room.

When we love our bodies well, we don’t just benefit ourselves. We give our children permission to inhabit their bodies without fear. We teach them that health is not about control, but about care.

This is the legacy that lasts.

Not the size you wore.
Not the diet you followed.
But the peace you modelled.
The kindness you practised.
The safety you created.

And that kind of love doesn’t fade it multiplies.

I hope I am setting the right example for my girls and they will grow up confident and healthy, no matter what size or how society tries to tell them they should look.