To face one’s own reflection without ceasing to tremble.
Acceptance.
Such a strange, elusive word—like a bird that lands for only an instant, then flees before you can hold it.
Each time I look into the mirror, I don’t just see a body; I uncover an archive of memories, an open book written in indelible ink—pages filled with storms and pain.
The woman I imagine in my mind is not the same one who looks back at me through the glass. That dissonance hurts, like a crack running through the soul.
I wish I could build a bridge between those two images, reconcile them, and merge them into one reflection that doesn’t betray me. But fear stops me—that wild animal that stalks me still—
fear of failing, of hearing once more the cruel verdict that whispers: “You’re not enough.”
That voice doesn’t live outside; it echoes from the deepest part of me, and sometimes it’s louder than any word of love.
Someone once told me that clear intentions are measured by results.
Since then, I’ve wondered if my intention is truly strong enough—if what I desire is clearly defined, or if I’m simply hiding behind excuses.
Because this fear, disguised as laziness, has become an invisible chain, holding me back from taking even a single step.
Sometimes I suspect my body is just a shelter—a comfortable house where I hide from myself, with its windows tightly closed to the world.
But I know—know it with the same certainty with which I breathe—that I’ve escaped other invisible prisons before, and I can escape this one too.
Perhaps acceptance isn’t learned in stillness but in motion.
Maybe it isn’t about understanding everything but about moving forward even as the heart trembles.
Perhaps acceptance is walking barefoot on wet earth, carrying fear as one carries a sleeping child—and continuing anyway.
Because acceptance is not surrender.
It’s opening the window to the wind, letting it rush in with its doubts and its dust,
and deciding that even if it messes my hair and scatters my papers,
that wind, teaches me how to breathe.
Nel Duarte
Whitehorse—March 12, 2024
✨ Thank you for accompanying me in this mirror and wound, this fragile space where reflection and trembling coexist. Every reader who walks with me on this acceptance journey reminds me that no one learns to embrace themselves alone.