For me, being tall was very positive because I thought my mom was

The words of Lisa Leslie — “For me, being tall was very positive because I thought my mom was the most beautiful person ever.” — are a hymn to self-acceptance, to admiration, and to the quiet power of a mother’s example. Beneath their gentle tone lies the ancient truth that beauty is not something we are told — it is something we are shown. Lisa, who would one day become a towering figure in women’s basketball, found her first model of confidence not in the mirror, but in her mother’s grace. Her mother’s height, once perhaps seen as different by others, became to her daughter a crown of dignity. Thus, what could have been shame was transformed into pride — and pride into greatness.

In these words, we see how a mother’s image shapes a child’s spirit. Children do not only inherit the features of their parents; they inherit their reflection — the way their parents see themselves. When Lisa says that being tall was “very positive,” she is describing the miracle that happens when love makes identity sacred. Her mother’s beauty became the measure by which she judged herself. What the world might have called unusual, she called divine. This is how self-worth is passed down — not through praise, but through example.

In the ancient world, the Greeks taught of kalokagathia — the harmony of beauty and goodness. But they also warned that beauty without virtue corrupts, and virtue without confidence hides. Lisa’s mother embodied the ancient ideal: strength joined with grace, confidence joined with kindness. From her, Lisa learned that to stand tall is to honor one’s design, not to shrink from it. And in doing so, she came to embody a living truth: that our perception of ourselves is born from those who first taught us how to see.

This story recalls the legend of Joan of Arc, who, when mocked for her armor and her voice, declared that God made her to lead, not to hide. Like Lisa, Joan’s power began in the image of a woman — her mother, Isabelle Romée, who taught her piety, courage, and duty. From that foundation of faith, Joan dared to redefine what strength could look like in a woman’s form. In both lives, we see that the root of courage often grows from the soil of maternal example — from the unwavering sense that what we are is not wrong, but chosen.

Lisa Leslie’s reflection also speaks to a universal struggle — the conflict between individuality and conformity. Many spend their lives trying to fit into molds not made for them, yet Lisa’s perspective teaches us that identity, when anchored in love, needs no approval. Her mother’s beauty became a mirror in which she saw her own worth reflected. This is the wisdom of the ancients: the one who loves themselves rightly becomes unbreakable, for they are not built by others’ opinions, but by inner truth.

There is a sacred power in the simplicity of her admiration: “I thought my mom was the most beautiful person ever.” In that thought is a daughter’s worship, a child’s longing to resemble greatness. To love someone so deeply that their image makes you proud of your own — that is the alchemy of love at its purest. It turns insecurity into inspiration, and difference into destiny. Lisa’s mother did not need to teach lessons in words; her being was lesson enough.

From this, let every soul take heed: the way you see yourself teaches others how to see themselves. Parents, mentors, elders — your self-respect becomes the inheritance of those who follow you. Walk tall, speak kindly of yourself, and wear your difference as divine design. For those who look up to you will one day look like you — in heart, in courage, in presence.

And finally, let us remember the essence of Lisa Leslie’s wisdom: to love one’s reflection is to honor those who gave it form. When you admire those who came before you, you do not live in their shadow — you carry their light forward. Her mother’s beauty became her daughter’s pride, and that pride became a legacy. So too must we each learn to stand tall — not in arrogance, but in gratitude — knowing that our stature, whatever it may be, was first blessed by love.