I never liked mirrors.
Not the full-length ones, anyway. The small ones I could handle, just enough to swipe on mascara, fix my hair, and get out the door without really seeing myself. Full mirrors told the whole truth. The belly that curved where it “shouldn’t,” the thighs that always touched, arms I learned to keep hidden in cardigans and excuses. I grew up decoding beauty from billboards and magazine pages, and somewhere along the way, I decided my body was both too much and not enough, all at once. I’d been with people before. Some who said the right things, some who meant well but loved with conditions. I’d felt wanted, but never truly seen. Not until Him.
He wasn’t loud or flashy. Just kind. We met at a friend’s dinner party, he offered me the last bread roll, and something about the way he did it made me feel chosen, even in that small moment. There were late night talks, takeout containers, shows we barely watched because the conversation was better. He asked real questions and listened without waiting to speak. Between a movie night and a shared playlist, I realized I was falling for him. When things started to shift. When kisses deepened and fingers lingered I panicked.
Why? Because he would see me. All of me, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. One night, in my room, with my shirt halfway over my head, I froze. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, eyes on the floor. “I don’t always feel… beautiful.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t rush. He just stepped closer, placed his hands gently over mine, and said, “Your body is not a mistake I’m here to overlook. It’s art I get to learn.” And I cried, not from shame, but from release. Years of carrying weight that didn’t belong to me finally slipping off my shoulders. That night wasn’t perfect, it was real. We fumbled, and we laughed. I kept one sock on, and he kissed my hip like it was sacred ground. He touched me like every part was meant to be there. And for the first time in my life, I let someone love all of me, without shrinking, without apology.
The next morning, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Same curves. Same softness, but everything looked different. Because I was finally seeing myself through love, not judgment. I didn’t see flaws that morning, I saw a woman awakening.
I saw love, still asleep in my bed, waiting to make me coffee.
Becca Watson is always free. But if you enjoyed this post, and want to buy me a coffee it is greatly appreciated. Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy! buymeacoffee.com/rebeccaseww
Truly lovely story. Something everyone wants.
Lovely.