What If I Didn’t Have to Keep Scoring Myself?

Journey 002 · Not Feeling Good Enough · Part 4 of 5

A few days later, I stopped by a small shopping center after work.

I was not looking for anything special.

Just groceries.

Maybe a new notebook.

Maybe a quiet walk through the stores before going home.

It was the kind of ordinary afternoon I would usually forget a week later.

But as I walked past a children’s clothing store, I noticed a little girl standing in front of a large mirror.

She could not have been more than six.

She had put on a bright yellow dress that looked slightly too big for her.

The sleeves slipped a little from her shoulders.

The skirt reached farther down than it was supposed to.

But she did not seem to care.

She turned once.

Then again.

The skirt floated out around her like a small umbrella.

She laughed.

“Look!”

Her mother smiled from a few steps away.

“You look beautiful.”

The little girl grinned and spun one more time.

She was not checking the dress.

She was not looking for flaws.

She was not wondering if it made her look thinner, taller, softer, smarter, prettier, or more acceptable.

She was not trying to decide whether she had passed.

She was simply enjoying what it felt like to be herself in a yellow dress.

I stood there longer than I meant to.

There was something almost unfamiliar about the way she looked at herself.

Not because she was perfect.

Not because the dress fit exactly right.

Not because the mirror had given her some final answer.

But because she was not asking the mirror for permission.

She looked into it the way someone looks at a window.

With curiosity.

With delight.

With no need to turn herself into a problem.

Then I caught my own reflection in the same mirror.

For a second, my body almost did what it always did.

Straighten the sweater.

Fix the hair.

Check the face.

Find something.

Anything.

Before my hand reached my sleeve, I stopped.

Not because I had suddenly become confident.

Not because I loved everything I saw.

Only because, for the first time, I noticed the difference between the way she looked at herself and the way I looked at myself.

One of us was discovering.

The other was evaluating.

One of us was playing.

The other was taking an exam.

I wondered when that had changed.

Not in her.

In me.

When did the mirror stop being a place where I simply saw myself?

When did it become a place where I searched for evidence?

When did my reflection become a question I had to answer every morning?

No clear memory came.

No dramatic explanation.

Only small pieces.

A compliment I wanted to keep.

A good grade I wanted to repeat.

A photo I almost posted, then deleted.

A room where I tried to sound smarter than I felt.

A mirror where I checked myself before anyone else could.

Maybe it had not happened all at once.

Maybe I had learned to score myself one quiet moment at a time.

And maybe I could begin to stop the same way.

Not all at once.

Just one quiet moment at a time.

The little girl spun again.

Her mother laughed.

The mirror held them both without judgment.

That thought surprised me.

The mirror was not the judge.

It never had been.

It had only reflected back whatever I brought to it.

Some mornings, I brought fear.

Some days, I brought comparison.

Some evenings, I brought the invisible scorecard and asked the glass to help me calculate my worth.

But the mirror itself had never asked me to become smaller.

It had never told me to fix one more thing.

It had never said:

Almost.

Almost enough.

Almost acceptable.

Those words had come from somewhere else.

From old rules.

Old hopes.

Old ways of trying to be seen kindly.

I looked at my reflection again.

Nothing about it had changed.

Same face.

Same sweater.

Same tiredness at the end of a long day.

But for a few seconds, I tried to look without searching.

Not for beauty.

Not for flaws.

Not for proof.

Just recognition.

This is me.

Here I am.

That was all.

It felt strangely tender.

Also uncomfortable.

Part of me still wanted a verdict.

Good enough or not.

Acceptable or not.

Improved or not.

But another part of me was tired of living as if every reflection, every conversation, every piece of work, every ordinary day had to end with a score.

The little girl took off the yellow dress and handed it back to her mother.

Then she skipped toward another rack of clothes, already interested in something new.

Just like that, the moment was over.

But I carried it with me.

On the way home, I passed a shop window and saw my reflection again.

This time, I did not stop for long.

I did not fix my hair.

I did not adjust my sweater.

I did not ask the glass to tell me whether I was enough.

I only noticed myself walking.

A person in a coat.

A little tired.

Still here.

Still becoming.

And for once, that did not feel like a problem to solve.

Maybe I did not have to keep scoring myself.

Maybe the mirror could become just a mirror again.

Maybe I could learn to look at myself without turning every glance into a verdict.

Continue this journey
This is Part 4 of 5.
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