Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror

Count all the scars that have somehow shown up in my

Gray hairs and smile lines and crow’s feet

And I wonder if this is what people see when they look at me

Or if they see something different than the pain

That I feel is plainly displayed in my features.

And then I look at myself and think of all the things

That make me beautiful, that have nothing to do

With how many wounds I’ve healed or burdens I carry.

And I wonder if people see this instead

How I give myself freely

How I cultivate the spark in others

How I inspire those who touch me

How I shine in dark places

How I hold sacred space for those who hurt

How I say no without fear

How I go forward even with the chains around my feet.

Then I smile at my reflection, still wondering

But deciding that perhaps it does not matter what they see.

Perhaps all that matters is what I see.

And I see how all the scars have given me this silver crown

And the wisdom of elders and the love of beauty.