When you look in the mirror, what do you see?

Do you see the person you want to become, or do you see the version of yourself that other people have convinced you to believe?

I know what I see now, but there was a long time when I didn’t.

My children watched me lose myself while they were growing into adults. Around that same time, my grandmother died. I took my mother to the funeral, even though she didn’t want to go. While I was away, I called my children every single day. They were the light that kept reaching through my darkness. I remember speaking with a Southern twang after spending time with family, and my cousin thought something was terribly wrong.

She wasn’t entirely wrong.

I was broken.

I sat through that funeral crying, mourning not only my grandmother, but my grandfather, my childhood, and every happy memory that suddenly felt impossibly far away.

Looking back, I realized I began repeating patterns I had witnessed growing up. Grief has a way of doing that. We often fall back on the examples we were given, even when we promised ourselves we would choose differently. My mother had lived through the loss of her own mother, and she made the best decisions she knew how with the life she had. Without realizing it, I found myself walking a similar path.

My life felt like it was spiraling downward, and no amount of hard work seemed enough to pull me back. From the outside, I kept moving. Inside, I was exhausted. My own happiness had become something I struggled to believe I deserved.

There was a time during my pregnancy when both my son and I faced serious medical complications. It changed the way I viewed life. It reminded me how fragile every future really is, and how much the people we love can shape the direction of our lives.

That experience also changed how I see the world.

I don’t believe healing comes through more pain. I believe pain deserves to be acknowledged, expressed, and understood—but not endlessly passed from one person to another.

Feel your anger.

Speak your truth.

Cry when you need to.

But when the storm settles, ask yourself why you felt that way and what needs to change. Growth begins when we can hold ourselves accountable while still offering ourselves compassion. None of us are perfect. Admitting you’re human is not weakness—it’s one of the bravest things you can do.

Sometimes it’s fun to imagine ourselves as gods or goddesses. Stories, myths, and symbols remind us of the strength we carry inside.

Just don’t mistake that symbolism for superiority.

No one is worth more than anyone else. Pride without humility only creates more suffering.

When I look in the mirror now, I don’t want to see perfection.

I want to see someone who is kind.

Someone who loves deeply.

Someone who sets healthy boundaries and remains firm without becoming cruel.

Someone who is genuine, generous, supportive, and unafraid to ask for help just as freely as they offer it.

I want to be someone who shares love, kindness, music, art, history, curiosity, and hope—without hesitation.

I want to help leave this world better than I found it.

I know I can’t change everything.

But every act of compassion matters.

Every conversation matters.

Every piece of art matters.

Every person who chooses kindness over cruelty changes the future in ways they may never see.

Maybe that’s how the world changes.

Not all at once.

Just one dream, one choice, and one act of love at a time.