I caught my reflection in the window this morning, the kind of glance that’s more accident than intention. I was brushing my teeth, not doing anything special, and there I was, all of me, in the glass. Sometimes I forget to actually look at myself. Not in the “Do I look good?” way, but in the “Is this really me?” way. It’s weird to feel surprised by your own face. I’ve had this face my whole life. Still, I tilt my head and try to see past the features and into the person.
Some days, my body feels like a puzzle I’m still learning how to solve. Being Black and queer in the world is already an adventure, but then you add in just existing in skin that people have opinions about, and it gets complicated. I think about how my mom used to tell me I had my grandfather’s nose, how aunties would pinch my cheeks and joke about my “strong bones.” I didn’t understand, back then, that I’d grow up and those same bones would be something I’d have to make peace with.
There’s a gentle kind of humor in it now. I catch myself trying out new expressions in the mirror, wondering if I look more like myself with a smirk or a soft smile. Sometimes I wish I could ask my younger self what they thought of this version of us. Maybe they’d laugh, maybe they’d roll their eyes. Either way, I hope they’d see I’m trying.
Lately, I’m learning to treat my body less like a project and more like a companion. That doesn’t mean I always love it. Some days, I just nod at my reflection and keep moving. But there’s a little more softness in the nod now. A little more honesty. I can’t say I’ve got everything figured out, but I’m here, living in these bones, and that feels like enough for today.