There are days when I can't bear to look at myself. Days when the mirror feels like a cruel trickster, reflecting back everything I try so hard to hide. My skin, my body, my existence—they feel like battles I've been losing since the day I was born.
Being Black and half-Hispanic feels like living in the crossfire of two worlds, neither fully embracing me. My family doesn't say it outright, but I feel it in their words, in the subtle ways they push me to pick a side. "Your hair is too Black," they say on one side. "You don't speak enough Spanish," they say on the other. It's like they've split me in two, and I'm constantly trying to piece myself back together in a way that makes sense. But no matter how I rearrange the parts, someone always tells me I'm wrong.
Then there's my body. The word "fat" feels like a brand, seared into my skin by every cruel comment, every judgmental glance, every moment I've spent pulling at my clothes to hide myself. My body has been a source of shame for as long as I can remember. Family members, thinking they were helping, would say, "You have such a pretty face. If only you lost a little weight." Or, worse, "Don't you want to be healthier?" As if my worth could be measured by the number on a scale.
I've carried those words with me, heavy as stones in my chest. They've shaped the way I see myself, the way I navigate the world. I avoid mirrors because they don't just show me what I look like—they show me what I think I'll never be. I see the stretch marks on my thighs, the softness of my stomach, the arms I always wish were smaller. I see every flaw magnified, every imperfection screaming back at me.
Some days, the self-hatred is so loud I can't hear anything else. I hear the voices from my past, the ones that told me I was too much or not enough. I hear the world telling me that people like me aren't meant to take up space, that I should shrink myself to fit into the narrow mold of what's considered acceptable.
And yet, she stayed.
She loves me in a way I don't understand. Even from miles away, her love finds me in the darkest corners of my mind. Her words are my refuge when I'm breaking. She calls me beautiful in the moments I feel anything but, and she means it. She tells me that I'm more than my insecurities, more than my reflection, and somehow, I believe her.
I've told her how I feel about myself. We've had those late-night calls when I couldn't hold it in anymore, when my voice cracked and I admitted how much I hate what I see in the mirror. I've told her I'm scared—scared that one day she'll see me the way I see myself and realize I'm not worth it. But she never wavers. Her voice stays steady, reminding me that her love isn't fragile, that it doesn't depend on me being "perfect."
She doesn't just tell me I'm enough; she shows me. In the way she listens, in the way she never lets me spiral too far without pulling me back. I may not be able to cry in her arms, but I feel her love in every word, in every "I'm here for you," even from a distance.
Her love feels like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, warm and unexpected. It doesn't erase the pain or the years of trauma, but it softens the edges. It reminds me that maybe, just maybe, I am more than what I see in the mirror.
But there are still days when I struggle. Days when I pass a mirror and catch a glimpse of myself, and all I feel is disgust. Days when I don't want to leave the house because I can't bear the thought of being seen. On those days, her love feels like the only thing keeping me afloat.
She can't fix me—she can't reach through the miles and hold me—but she stays. She stays, and that's enough.
A Letter to Myself
You are the daughter of two worlds,
Born from resilience and fire.
You carry the strength of your ancestors,
Even when the weight feels unbearable.
Your body is not a battleground.
It is not something to wage war against,
To carve into submission,
Or to hide in shame.
Your skin, your curves, your scars—
They are stories,
Written in a language
Only you can tell.
You are not your reflection.
You are the love you give,
The laughter you share,
The kindness you show to others.
And even when you can't see it,
Even when the mirror feels unkind,
Know this:
You are worthy
YOU ARE READING
Two hearts on one journey 🫂🌎
Romance"Two Hearts, One Journey" is a personal, emotional story told from my perspective, exploring the highs and lows of my long-distance relationship. This book isn't a regular back-and-forth narrative-it's a love letter, raw and intimate, reflecting my...
