Morning. A do-over from yesterday’s failures.
That’s what she was thinking as she stood, in front of the mirror, brushing her teeth. She never truly looks at her body, face, or hair.
But there she was, staring back at herself.
Depression takes, we give.
How did that happen? How does a person live, without taking care of themselves?
Her underwear design could use a bit of updating, she thinks.
She took a closer look. Her hair is long. She recalls a time of long hair as a child. Her dad didn’t want to have her hair cut, because when she played in the sun,he said it looked like a shiny copper penny.
The copper has been mixed with silver. Growing hair this long isn’t easy, but she decides to let it continue to grow. Maybe her it will bring confidence to one who has lost theirs.
Across her midsection are scars and moles. Making a visual line, she could see the shape of the big dipper crossing her belly. How nice it was for the surgeons to place those cuts in such a strategic pattern, that her belly would become art.
There is a waist. She sees it. She stands taller. Years of slumping shoulders whittled away at her self-esteem. She feels stronger standing with her shoulders back, chin up.
She realizes she doesn’t have to look haggard any more. It was a choice. Perhaps, not a conscious choice, but a choice nonetheless.
“You aren’t so bad”, she told herself.
Mornings. A fresh start.
A day full of new opportunities.