{"id":2343,"date":"2024-06-18T10:09:18","date_gmt":"2024-06-18T10:09:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/?p=2343"},"modified":"2024-06-18T10:09:33","modified_gmt":"2024-06-18T10:09:33","slug":"the-mirror-doesnt-lie","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/the-mirror-doesnt-lie\/","title":{"rendered":"The Mirror Doesn&#8217;t Lie."},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p>Linda stood in front of her bathroom mirror, her fingers tracing the lines that had started to form around her eyes. She turned her head left and right, trying to convince herself that they were merely shadows, tricks of the light. But deep down, she knew the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&#8220;No, it&#8217;s just because I&#8217;m tired,&#8221; she muttered to herself. She had always been told she looked younger than her age. At forty-two, Linda prided herself on her youthful appearance. She jogged every morning, ate organic foods, and never missed a day of her skincare routine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Her teenage daughter, Emily, knocked on the bathroom door. &#8220;Mom, are you ready? We need to leave for my appointment.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Linda snapped back to reality. &#8220;Yes, sweetie. Just a minute.&#8221; She splashed cold water on her face as if trying to wash away the years. She grabbed her makeup bag and applied a generous layer of foundation, erasing the evidence of time. Satisfied, she joined Emily in the car.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>As they drove to the orthodontist, Emily chatted excitedly about her day at school. Linda listened, nodding at appropriate moments, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn&#8217;t stop thinking about the upcoming high school reunion. It had been twenty-five years since she last saw her classmates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>When they arrived at the clinic, Emily went in for her appointment while Linda waited in the car. She scrolled through her phone, looking at old photos from her high school days. She was the captain of the cheerleading squad, the prom queen, and the girl everyone wanted to be friends with. The memories were bittersweet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Her phone buzzed with a message from her best friend, Karen. &#8220;Hey Linda! Excited for the reunion? Can&#8217;t wait to catch up!&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Linda typed a quick reply, &#8220;Me too! It&#8217;ll be fun!&#8221; but her stomach churned with anxiety. She feared that her friends would notice the changes she worked so hard to hide.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Later that evening, Linda sat in the living room with Emily, watching a movie. Emily glanced at her mother and said, &#8220;Mom, you know you don&#8217;t have to try so hard. You&#8217;re beautiful just the way you are.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Linda&#8217;s heart skipped a beat. &#8220;What do you mean, sweetie?&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Emily shrugged. &#8220;I just mean that you&#8217;re always so worried about looking young. It&#8217;s okay to age, Mom. Everyone does.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Linda forced a smile. &#8220;That&#8217;s sweet of you to say, Emily, but you don&#8217;t understand. I need to look my best for the reunion.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Emily didn&#8217;t press the issue, but her words lingered in Linda&#8217;s mind. She went to bed that night, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The next morning, she decided to visit her mother, who lived a few miles away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Her mother, Helen, was in her seventies and embraced her age gracefully. Her wrinkles told stories of laughter and love, and her silver hair shone like a crown. Linda admired her mother&#8217;s confidence but couldn&#8217;t imagine feeling the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&#8220;Mom,&#8221; Linda began as they sipped tea in the kitchen, &#8220;how did you come to terms with getting older?&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Helen smiled warmly. &#8220;Oh, Linda, it wasn&#8217;t easy at first. I was scared too. But I realized that age is just a number. What matters is how we feel inside and the love we give and receive.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Linda looked down at her teacup. &#8220;I guess I&#8217;ve been trying to hold on to my youth too tightly.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Helen reached out and squeezed Linda&#8217;s hand. &#8220;There&#8217;s nothing wrong with wanting to look your best, but don&#8217;t let it consume you. You&#8217;re a beautiful person, inside and out.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The words hit Linda like a wave. She felt a sense of relief wash over her. For the first time, she allowed herself to accept the lines on her face and the changes in her body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The day of the reunion arrived, and Linda dressed in a simple yet elegant outfit. She applied minimal makeup, letting her natural beauty shine through. As she walked into the venue, she felt nervous but also liberated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Her friends greeted her with warm hugs and genuine smiles. No one seemed to notice or care about the lines on her face. They were too busy reminiscing about old times and sharing stories of their lives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Linda realized that she had been in denial, not just about aging, but about what truly mattered in life. She had spent so much energy trying to look young that she had forgotten to appreciate the present and the people around her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That night, as she lay in bed, Linda looked in the mirror one last time. She saw the same lines and shadows, but this time, she smiled. They were a part of her story, a story she was finally ready to embrace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>by walking shadow poetry Kenya.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Linda stood in front of her bathroom mirror, her fingers tracing the lines that had started to form around her eyes. She turned her head left and right, trying to convince herself that they were merely shadows, tricks of the light. But deep down, she knew the truth. &#8220;No, it&#8217;s just because I&#8217;m tired,&#8221; she [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2344,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[98],"tags":[35,49,34,67,50,61,55,53,22,48],"class_list":["post-2343","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-storytime","tag-poems","tag-poetess","tag-poetry","tag-preciousowoko","tag-spokenword","tag-spokenwords","tag-stories","tag-story","tag-walkingshadowpoetry","tag-walkingshadowpoetrykenya"],"aioseo_notices":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-5065789.jpeg?fit=867%2C1300&ssl=1","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":2399,"url":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/redefining-her-power\/","url_meta":{"origin":2343,"position":0},"title":"Redefining Her Power.","author":"walking shadow poetry kenya","date":"August 1, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Lydia stood in front of the mirror, her eyes tracing the faint lines of worry that had formed over the years. She had been through a lot\u2014failed relationships, career setbacks, and moments of doubt that threatened to overwhelm her. But today was different. Today, she was determined to reclaim her\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"fashion photography of woman hands on chin with glitter makeup","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/pexels-photo-1081685.jpeg?fit=1092%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/pexels-photo-1081685.jpeg?fit=1092%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/pexels-photo-1081685.jpeg?fit=1092%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/pexels-photo-1081685.jpeg?fit=1092%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/pexels-photo-1081685.jpeg?fit=1092%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=1050%2C600 3x"},"classes":[]},{"id":2395,"url":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/title-a-second-chance-at-happiness\/","url_meta":{"origin":2343,"position":1},"title":"Title: &#8220;A Second Chance at Happiness&#8221;","author":"walking shadow poetry kenya","date":"August 1, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Maria sat on the park bench, her thoughts drifting as she watched the leaves fall gently to the ground. The crisp autumn air matched the chill she felt inside, a familiar emptiness that had followed her for years. After countless failed relationships and heartaches, she had given up on love,\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;storytime&quot;","block_context":{"text":"storytime","link":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/SPOKENWORDSandMODERNDAYPOETRY\/storytime\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"pair of white dice on top of mirror","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/dice-eyes-luck-game-705171.jpeg?fit=1200%2C797&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/dice-eyes-luck-game-705171.jpeg?fit=1200%2C797&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/dice-eyes-luck-game-705171.jpeg?fit=1200%2C797&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/dice-eyes-luck-game-705171.jpeg?fit=1200%2C797&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/08\/dice-eyes-luck-game-705171.jpeg?fit=1200%2C797&ssl=1&resize=1050%2C600 3x"},"classes":[]},{"id":2364,"url":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/the-healing-journey-of-sarah\/","url_meta":{"origin":2343,"position":2},"title":"The Healing Journey of Sarah.","author":"walking shadow poetry kenya","date":"June 21, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Sarah had always believed in love. She dreamed of a fairytale romance where she would find her prince charming, and they would live happily ever after. But life had a different plan for her. She found herself stuck in a cycle of consistent heartbreak. Her first serious relationship was with\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"poetess\"","block_context":{"text":"poetess","link":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/WalkingShadowPoetryKenya\/poetess\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"man in blue kissing woman on forehead","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-3724031.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-3724031.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-3724031.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-3724031.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x"},"classes":[]},{"id":2357,"url":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/finding-acceptance\/","url_meta":{"origin":2343,"position":3},"title":"Finding Acceptance.","author":"walking shadow poetry kenya","date":"June 18, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Megan had always felt out of place. Growing up in a small town where everyone seemed to fit into neat little boxes, she felt like an outsider. Her interests were different, her style was different, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to blend in. In high\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;storytime&quot;","block_context":{"text":"storytime","link":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/SPOKENWORDSandMODERNDAYPOETRY\/storytime\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"black woman in earphones listening to music and texting message","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-5965896.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-5965896.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-5965896.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-5965896.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x"},"classes":[]},{"id":2391,"url":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/title-the-shadow-of-narcissism\/","url_meta":{"origin":2343,"position":4},"title":"Title: The Shadow of Narcissism.","author":"walking shadow poetry kenya","date":"June 23, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Chapter 1: A Fresh Start Moving to the city was a new beginning for Amina. After a series of bad jobs in her small town, she was ready for the excitement and opportunities that came with city life. She found a small apartment, got a decent job at a marketing\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;storytime&quot;","block_context":{"text":"storytime","link":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/SPOKENWORDSandMODERNDAYPOETRY\/storytime\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"woman in blue white and red plaid shirt and black pants sitting on gray couch","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-6003534.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-6003534.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-6003534.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-6003534.jpeg?fit=800%2C1200&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x"},"classes":[]},{"id":2340,"url":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/pain-in-denial\/","url_meta":{"origin":2343,"position":5},"title":"Pain in Denial.","author":"walking shadow poetry kenya","date":"June 18, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Ella sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the empty wall. Her phone buzzed with messages from friends, concerned and offering support, but she ignored them. She wasn't ready to face the truth. It had been three months since her father passed away. Everyone kept telling her it\u2026","rel":"","context":"In &quot;death&quot;","block_context":{"text":"death","link":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/SPOKENWORDSandMODERNDAYPOETRY\/death\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"upset woman listening to therapist","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-3958421.jpeg?fit=1200%2C800&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-3958421.jpeg?fit=1200%2C800&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-3958421.jpeg?fit=1200%2C800&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-3958421.jpeg?fit=1200%2C800&ssl=1&resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/06\/pexels-photo-3958421.jpeg?fit=1200%2C800&ssl=1&resize=1050%2C600 3x"},"classes":[]}],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2343","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2343"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2343\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2345,"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2343\/revisions\/2345"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2344"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2343"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2343"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/walkingshadowpoetry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2343"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}