She had always thought of water as a mirror.
Whenever it touched her skin, it reminded her that she was alive — not just in the sense of breathing, but in the deeper way: feeling, changing, enduring.
That evening, she sat quietly, listening to the soft rhythm of her own breath. Her hair was still damp, small drops tracing slow paths down her shoulders. The room was warm, and the world outside felt very far away.
For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t rushing.
No expectations.
No noise.
No one asking her to be more, or different, or stronger than she already was.
She thought about all the versions of herself she had been — the girl who dreamed, the woman who struggled, the person who learned to stand back up after disappointment. Each version had left a mark, invisible but real.
And she realized something simple and powerful:
Her body was not something to hide.
Her story was not something to be ashamed of.
Her presence, just as it was, was enough.
A small smile touched her lips.
In that quiet moment, she wasn’t trying to impress the world.
She was learning to belong to herself.
And that, she knew, was the beginning of peace. 🌿