At first, it happened gradually.
I stopped taking photographs.
Then I stopped looking at full-length mirrors.
Eventually, I avoided them altogether.
The changes in my body felt impossible to ignore.
My abdomen continued to grow because of fibroids.
My clothes stopped fitting properly.
People made comments.
Some were curious.
Others were insensitive.
A few were simply cruel.
Every glance in the mirror reminded me of what I had lost.
My confidence.
My sense of normalcy.
My comfort in my own skin.
I became disconnected from my reflection.
The woman staring back at me no longer felt familiar.
What I did not realize was that illness had affected more than my body.
It had affected my self-image.
My identity.
My relationship with myself.
Healing began when I stopped measuring my worth by my appearance. When I stopped seeing myself as a diagnosis. When I started treating myself with the same compassion I readily offered others.
Today, I look in the mirror differently.
I no longer see flaws.
I see resilience.
I see survival.
I see a woman who endured difficult things and kept going.
And that reflection is beautiful.