I swore I'd never let my daughter play with Barbies. But when she got cancer, the dolls helped her cope with treatment.

• Growing up, I found Barbie problematic and swore I'd never let my daughters play with the doll.
• When my 4-year-old daughter started cancer treatment, she found solace in Barbie.

Before I had kids, I swore I'd never let them play with Barbies. As a teenager in the '90s, I believed Barbie represented everything wrong in our culture.

Back then, Teen Talk Barbie's voice box was programmed to say, "Do you have a crush on anyone?" and "Math class is tough."

On my way to being a die-hard feminist, I rolled my eyes. I couldn't understand why any girl would want to be part of a Barbie world. Barbie placed limits on my potential.

When I became a mother, I promised myself I wouldn't let my daughters play with Barbie dolls. But when one of my daughters was diagnosed with cancer, I gained a whole new perspective on Barbie.

My daughter started playing with Barbie during a difficult time

When my 4-year-old daughter, Emily, was diagnosed with high-risk cancer, friends and family sent her mermaid Barbie, camper Barbie, and salon-stylist Barbie. She'd play with Barbies for hours in the hospital and at home. Emily's favorite was the newly released 2009 Barbie who cared for two tiny babies.

A few weeks after Emily started chemotherapy, I cringed watching her brush Barbie's long hair while hers fell out in clumps on her pillow.

On the day a nurse insisted I cut Emily's hair, I turned to Barbie for help. "I'll cut your hair first," I said to Emily. "And then you can cut Barbie's hair." Emily nodded. It's less scary to do something with a friend.

For long stretches of time, Barbie allowed Emily to escape the hospital and cancer. On her hospital tray she created mini-worlds for these dolls. The toy I'd loathed for decades was now a powerhouse of possibilities.

After treatment, I wondered what Barbie could offer Emily

Emily had 65% bilateral hearing loss, stunted growth, hair that never grew back well, fertility loss, and kidney damage.

Barbie's standard of beauty crept back into my being — only this time the angst was worse. Emily's perception of her self-worth was on the line. In a world that continued to revere big blond hair and a long thin frame, where did Emily fit in? I could only wait and see.

Serendipitously, "Toy Story 3" was released in 2010, two months shy of Emily finishing treatment. Emily, her older sister, and I ventured out for the first time since Emily's diagnosis 16 months earlier. "We have to see it!" Emily insisted for months.

In my girls' eyes, Barbie was the star of the movie. That Christmas, they asked for a Barbie playhouse. It was impossible to get, but I found one that did the trick.

While I folded laundry in the other room, I listened to their high-pitched voices creating a world where Barbie was in charge. The plastic prop enabled them to play out their aspirations. Barbie evolved from an animal doctor to a moneymaker to a singer who was also a dentist.

For years Emily continued to play with her Barbies. With a glue gun, scissors, tape, scraps of fabric, and permanent markers, she kneeled at our coffee table and made dresses and outfits for her Barbies. After styling Barbie to go out for dinner, she'd run into the kitchen with a huge toothy smile and ask me, "Do you like it?"

How could I not love a Barbie who was helping my daughter process emotions and creativity?

I had to stop projecting onto my girls my own impression of Barbie

To my daughters, Barbie wasn't dictating what they needed to possess to be beautiful and accepted. She was simply the prop that allowed them to imagine their best possible lives. I noticed that neither one of my girls focused on Barbie's physical features.

Emily didn't stop playing with Barbies until she was 10 and on her way to middle school. Reluctantly, she packed up all her Barbies — about 30 by then — and put them in a box in her closet. Her heart was heavy. Saying goodbye to her close friends who'd helped her through the unimaginable was hard.

For the past few months, Emily, now 18, and her sister, now 20, have waited with wild anticipation for the "Barbie" movie. "We have to see it!" they say every time the commercial plays. I surprise myself with my own excitement. And yet I'm not that surprised.

Barbie gave my girls permission to celebrate being a powerful young woman — not just in a Barbie world, but in the one they navigate now. Barbie's resilience and ability to reinvent herself in the "real world" is inspiring. I can't help but be reminded of my Emily.

In a few days I'll be in a movie-theater chair chanting, "Barbie, Barbie, Barbie!" How can I not root for the superstar who gave my daughter hope and a way to see herself as healthy and thriving?

Go get 'em, Barbie. I owe you.