Looking at myself in the mirror…
Fresh from a morning working in the garden.
Quick shower.
Hair dried by the breeze — which is always around here in our old mill.
No makeup. No filter. No pretending.
And for once, I didn’t scan for flaws.
Didn’t critique.
Didn’t rush past the reflection.
I paused.
I saw myself.
And… I liked her.
Minutes later, our dear friends J & A came over for a BBQ.
We’ve known them since our first years in Portugal — back when we were neighbors and everything still felt new.
J hugged me tight. Her eyes welled up.
“Your posts… I recognise myself in them.”
She’d never commented. Never messaged.
Just read. Felt. Held the words close.
And right there, it hit me:
I’m already serving.
Quietly. Powerfully.
Maybe more than I let myself believe.
Because if she felt seen — how many others do too?
Reading silently.
Nodding quietly.
Finding tiny pieces of themselves in my words.
This is why I write.
Not for reach. Not for applause.
But for truth. For connection.
For the women who are just beginning to say yes to themselves.
If that’s you — I see you.
And I hope, someday soon,
you’ll look in the mirror
and feel, even for a moment, proud of the woman looking back at you.
With love,
M
