As I stand before the mirror, a familiar face gazes back at me, yet I feel as though I am looking into the depths of my soul. It’s a moment of vulnerability, a quiet conversation with myself that holds the weight of years gone by. I ask, almost pleadingly, “What do you mean you don’t think you’re beautiful? What do you mean you don’t believe you deserve happiness?” It’s a dialogue that unfolds like a delicate flower, revealing layers of doubt and insecurity that I’ve carried