We’re taught to look in mirrors to find ourselves.
But all a mirror knows is how to bounce light.
It doesn't understand the weight of a sigh, the tremble in a smile, the reason you looked in the first place.
What we see in it is not a person—
It’s a pause.
A frame.
A single version of you, flattened and flipped.
Cleaned up. Cropped tight. Lit just right.
It’s not truth.
It’s a rehearsal.
And yet, we stare.
We perform.
We adjust our posture, tilt our head, fake a smile—
Not always for vanity, but often to feel like we exist at all.
To confirm that we haven’t disappeared.
But the mirror doesn’t speak.
It doesn’t challenge your delusions.
It reflects them.
It agrees with your worst day, your harshest judgment.
It shows you only what you’re brave enough to look for.
What it cannot show is your momentum.
It cannot capture who you are becoming in motion.
It does not see kindness.
Or courage.
Or the years you fought to come back from the version you no longer want to be.
Mirrors don’t see the promises you kept when no one was watching.
They don’t see the apology you whispered that changed everything.
They don’t see how many times you almost quit—and didn’t.
The mirror only sees now.
But you are not now.
You are all your yesterdays still unfolding.
You are every version that ever broke open just to learn how to hold something new.
So be careful.
Don’t let a silvered surface dictate your sense of self.
Don’t hand over your worth to a piece of glass.
You are not what the mirror reflects.
You are what steps away from it.
You are what lives beyond it.
You are the look you give someone you love when they’re hurting.
You are the one who keeps showing up, even cracked.
Even scared.
Even unsure.
That will never be captured by a mirror.
Because mirrors only reflect light—
Not the soul that bends it.
“When did your reflection tell you less than your actions did?”