One morning, I looked into the mirror and didn't recognize the woman staring back.
She had the same eyes. The same tired lines beneath them.
But something was different.
There was fire in her eyes. A quiet one, the kind that doesn't burn, but warms.
She looked… calm. Not because she wasn't hurting—but because she had made peace with the pain.
That morning, I put on lipstick.
It wasn't for anyone. Not for a date, not for attention.
Just… for me.
I wore my favorite earrings again.
I walked outside without hiding behind a mask of silence.
I even laughed—genuinely—for the first time in what felt like forever.
No one noticed these small things. But I did.
Because for the first time, I wasn't trying to go back to the woman I used to be.
I was becoming someone new.
Someone who didn't need anyone's approval to feel worthy.
Someone who could walk alone and still feel whole.
Someone who loved herself enough to let go of what almost destroyed her.
The woman in the mirror wasn't broken anymore.
She was healing.