by Kaia Storme
There are mornings when the world feels too bright, like it’s asking questions before I’ve even found my voice. I used to think people noticed everything about me before they noticed me.
But I’ve learned something different.
I learned it in small moments, standing in sunlight that made my reflection look almost golden, hearing laughter that sounded like it belonged to me, seeing how I could walk into a room and change its energy without saying a word.
My skin isn’t something I have to explain. It’s something I live in. It carries history, family, laughter, survival, and softness all at once. Some days it feels like armor. Other days it feels like home.
There was a time I tried to shrink parts of myself to fit into places that didn’t know how to hold me. Now I understand: I was never too much. I was just standing in rooms that were too small.
And slowly, I stopped asking permission to exist fully.
Now when I look in the mirror, I don’t just see color. I see someone becoming. Someone learning that confidence should be a constant. It’s showing up again and again, even when you doubt yourself.
The world still tries to define people quickly. But I’ve learned I don’t need to be defined fast. I just need to keep becoming.
And I am.
Art by Jacob Ellias, Wilderness Reflection
About the Author
Kaia loves writing personal essays and exploring everyday experiences through reflection and storytelling. She also loves music and often finds inspiration in how songs express emotions that words sometimes cannot.