Member-only story
Reflection
I’ve never quite liked the way I look.
Mirrors were never kind to me.
A minute — maybe less — before I’d start picking apart every piece
wishing I could smooth this, shrink that,
erase the things I thought made me less.
It wasn’t just the mirror, though.
It was the weight I carried —
not on my body, but inside me.
This quiet sadness that settled in slowly
and stayed longer than I ever expected.
I used to think it was just about appearances,
but now I realize —
Maybe it wasn’t my face, or my body, or my voice.
Maybe it was the grief of not being okay.
The ache of watching life move forward for everyone else
while I stood still in a fog,
too tired to chase, too lost to ask for directions.
It became a routine,
this dance inside the dark.
Running in circles,
losing more of myself every time I tried to start again.
And the silence inside me?
It started to feel louder than anything around me.
