When I look in the mirror I no longer see the girl I once did.
Upon first glance, I still see the same basic features. My eyes, they are still greenish. My hair is still brown. My glasses still sit squarely on my nose.
But as I age, I am now realizing the reflection looking back at me is different.
It’s no longer an innocent face. Instead, it’s that of a women who has experienced more of life. The ups and downs. The good and the bad.
I realize the face staring back at me is also possibly wiser, with a little bit of broken added in.
I see a women who has lived.
I see the white hairs that evaded my most recent colouring.
I see a work in progress.
I see the start of a few wrinkles.
When I look a bit deeper, I can see more then just a smile.
When I try, I can see sorrow and pain that runs deeply. Sorrow and pain that I work to keep hidden from outside view, that I often try to avoid myself.
I see a battle between optimism and fear. Most days, I see cautious optimism beating out fear.
If I look hard enough, I see hopes and dreams hidden below the surface as if to keep them safe. As if to be holding onto them tighter, and keeping them secrete, special and untainted. As if, keeping them hidden will help protect them from destruction.
I see determination in her eyes, and a will to overcome and persevere. I see a survivor.
I see a women who longs for a life she fondly remembers and yet can never have. But, at the same time I also see a women who loves the life she has.
I see a women who is grateful for what she has in her life, because she knows all to well how quickly life can change.
I see a women I never thought I’d be. And yet, I love the women I am, faults and all.
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