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I Am Finally Listening to Me
I am sitting in front of the mirror again, not out of vanity, but because I can no longer hide from the person I see. My reflection looks tired, familiar, and heartbreakingly patient—as if it has been waiting for this very moment. I am not pretending this time. I am whispering, with a shaking voice, “I’m sorry.”
The words feel foreign, like they belong to someone braver than me. But I keep saying them. I am apologizing to myself for all the times I have silenced my truth to keep others comfortable, for choosing peace that costs me my sanity, and for treating my heart like a thing that can wait.
I Am Crying for Every Version of Me
The tears are coming before I even notice. I am crying quietly at first, then deeply, without control. I am crying for the younger me who believed that love was something to earn through endurance. I am crying for the present me who still struggles to believe that being enough doesn’t require constant performance.
Every sob feels like an overdue confession. I am remembering all the moments I’ve laughed too loudly just to drown out my sadness, all the times I’ve said “I’m fine” when I’m breaking inside. I am remembering how many times I’ve chosen other people’s happiness over my own peace.
And as I cry, I am realizing how long I have mistaken survival for strength.
I Am Owning My Cruelty to Myself
I am sorry for the way I have treated me. For every cruel thought I’ve believed about my body, my voice, my worth. I am sorry for comparing my journey to everyone else’s highlight reel. I am sorry for punishing myself when I fall short of perfection.
I am finally admitting that I have been my own harshest critic and my least forgiving friend. I am realizing that I have worn kindness like armor for everyone else, but never offered it to myself. And I am tired. I am tired of explaining my pain away, of pretending I don’t need comfort, of living like I’m an afterthought in my own life.
I Am Allowing Myself to Break
I am holding my face in my hands now. The crying is heavier, rawer, almost cleansing. I am whispering apologies in fragments—“I’m sorry I ignored you. I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you. I’m sorry I made you feel small.” The words are tumbling out of me like water that’s been trapped behind a dam.
I am realizing that maybe healing begins here, not with fixing, but with feeling. I am allowing myself to break, to stop performing strength, to let vulnerability sit beside me without shame.
I Am Choosing Me This Time
Now, as the tears slow, I am breathing again. The silence no longer feels lonely—it feels honest. I am touching my heart lightly, feeling the slow rhythm that has carried me even through neglect. I am promising myself that I will not leave me again.
I am choosing me this time. I am choosing to rest, to say no without guilt, to speak even when my voice trembles. I am choosing to love myself not as a reward, but as a right.
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And as I look back into the mirror, my reflection doesn’t look disappointed anymore. It looks seen. I am whispering one last time, softly, meaningfully, “I’m sorry.”
And for the first time, I am hearing myself forgive me.
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