She doesn’t just have my eyes

 She doesn’t just have my eyes.

She holds the softest, forgotten pieces of me.

The brave parts I buried.
The joy I silenced.
The dreams I whispered quietly to the dark, thinking they’d never matter again.

Raising her has been like slowly waking up after a long, hard sleep.
Like looking into her little face and finally seeing my own—clearer, fuller, more whole.

She reminds me of who I used to be before life weighed so heavy.
And she shows me who I’m still allowed to become.

She mirrors more than just my smile.
She reflects back the parts of me I thought I’d lost.
And somehow, she makes them shine brighter.

This is what healing looks like.
This is what motherhood gave back to me.