“Am I attractive?” I asked myself the first time while waiting for a bus that never came. Weird timing, I know. I was twenty-three, sweaty, and holding a cold samosa wrapped in a newspaper, already leaking oil through the bag. Not exactly a moment ripe for self-love or epiphanies. But there it was. The question just popped in, loud as a foghorn. And honestly? It stuck around.
Anyway, this isn’t a tale of a magical makeover or finding self-worth through ten steps and a jade roller. I wish. It’s messier than that. It’s slower. And a little sad in places, but not all the way sad. I promise.
When Mirrors Talk Too Loud
Let’s be honest. Mirrors are rude.
Sometimes you walk by and feel kind of alright: decent hair day, skin behaving, no unexpected lint stuck to your shirt. Then other times, boom. You catch a glimpse, and suddenly you’re spiraling. That happened to me a lot. Especially during college, when I thought confidence came pre-installed with adulthood. (Spoiler: it didn’t.)
Back then, I was dating this guy, let’s call him Aaron. He once said, “You’re pretty in a different way,” and meant it as a compliment. I smiled. But inside, it stung. Different felt like the polite cousin of “not quite.”
I started comparing myself more. Scrolling Instagram didn’t help. Everyone seemed glowy and angled just right.
Besides that, my friends never really talked about this stuff out loud.
So yeah. The mirror became this mean little truth-teller. Or at least, it felt like it.
Falling Apart While Everyone Else Fell in Love
There was this stretch of time, maybe a year or so, when everyone around me seemed to be falling in love. Not just flings or flirty texting. I’m talking the love of my life kind of declarations. Everyone around me seemed to be starring in some rom-com—proposals under fairy lights, wedding slow dances, captions full of “forever with my person.”
And me? I was just in the audience, popcorn in hand, quietly wondering when my scene would start.
And it wasn’t jealousy, exactly. It was more like confusion. Like I missed the memo on how people became lovable.
There was this one night, wine in hand, scrolling through reviews of the One True Loves book. I’d just finished reading it, absolutely wrecked me, and instead of feeling inspired, I just cried. It hit me, not because the book was sad (though it was), but because I suddenly couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at me like I was enough.
So I sat there, wondering if maybe love skipped people like me. Maybe it passed by, saw me on the porch, and just… kept driving.
Learning to See (But Not Obsess)
You’d think with age comes clarity. Nope. Sometimes it just comes with more creative ways to doubt yourself.
I hit 30, and the question circled back again. Am I attractive? But this time, it sounded a little less accusatory. A little more curious.
I’d stopped wearing makeup every day. Not because I didn’t care, but because I was tired of trying to “correct” my face. I still wrestled with comparison, don’t get me wrong, but I noticed I wasn’t punishing myself for it as much.
Around that time, I reread the One True Loves book just to see if it hit differently. It did. Less romantic now, more… honest. I noticed how the characters found beauty in moments, not measurements. It’s not grand gestures, rather it’s more the way someone says your name softly, laughs at their own joke, or shows up with your favorite cereal in hand. That stuff.
I was single and still fumbling through things. But the mirror? I’d stopped treating it like a spotlight. I wasn’t performing anymore.
Small Things That Shifted the Way I Saw Myself
It’s strange how tiny moments change how you feel about something as big as your own worth.
A stranger once told me I had kind eyes at a gas station. He said it gently, didn’t hang around, and let the door swing open behind him.
A few days later, I caught my reflection mid-laugh, sitting with a friend. And just for a second, I let it be enough. I just looked… happy. Like someone I’d want to know.
I still don’t have all the answers. I still catch myself scrolling and sighing. Still wonder if I’m too this or not enough that.
But I’ve realized that attractive isn’t some fixed thing. It shifts. It breathes. And it has more to do with how I treat myself when no one’s watching than whether someone else wants to kiss me.
Maybe the Mirror Wasn’t the Enemy After All
All these years later, and that question hasn’t exactly gone away. I still think about it. Am I attractive?
But now I let the answer be complicated.
Some Mornings are positively charged and get a vibe of some silent supernatural powers, while on other days, I badly need someone to appreciate and reassure me of the progress.
But here’s the thing: I’m done letting that question control the room. It can sit in the corner and keep quiet while I live my damn life.
And if someone someday calls me the love of my life, I’ll believe them. But I’m not holding my breath for that kind of validation anymore.
Because truthfully? I’m starting to trust my own reflection.
