The Mirror Between Us

A Story of Vulnerability, Voice, and Vision: Willow’s Grace

I received a short video of my granddaughter, Willow, sitting in front of a mirror. At first, she just glanced. Then, curious, she scooted closer–fully relaxed, completely at ease. She stared. She studied. She smiled. And then, without hesitation, she kissed her own reflection—pure joy.

I felt my heart catch–but more than that, I felt lifted by the simple joy she had in her own reflection.

Watching Willow kiss her reflection, I didn’t just feel wonder–I felt an invitation. A call to remember the part of me who once looked at her own image with curiosity. The part that played dress-up not to hide, but to express. The part that saw herself without apology, without fear. 

When did I stop looking? 

In the beginning, there was curiosity and joy. The touch of fabric. The thrill of pairing the perfect shirt with simple jeans. Finding earrings that added a burst of color.

Adorning buttons–sometimes bold and oversized, sometimes a delicate pearl or glittering sequin. I’d curl my fine hair to give it volume or wear an adorable shag cut that made me feel chic.

A new outfit meant possibility. A fresh hair color or cut felt like an adventure. Getting dressed was more than routine; it was a creative ritual, a quiet conversation between the inside and outside of me.

Somewhere along the way, the joy became tangled, like hair caught in a brush. The mirror shifted. It stopped being a canvas and became a measuring stick. The excitement I once carried was replaced by pressure–to perfect, to present, to protect. 

My appearance became armor, not out of vanity, but out of fear of what might happen if anyone saw beneath it. Suppose they caught a glimpse of the little girl with the missing front tooth who felt unbearably exposed. If they recognized the teenager who tailored every angle, every smile, to protect herself from judgment and rejection. If they noticed the young woman who believed her acne was a spotlight she couldn’t dim or outrun.

The mirror no longer offered possibility; it offered surveillance.

And still, something softened. Not quickly, not dramatically–just quietly, over years. Through life. Through mentors. Through healing that unfolded on its own timeline. I was invited back to my reflection. No one told me to fix myself. Instead, they asked me to see myself. To look beneath the polish, beyond the blemishes, through the silence behind the wounds.

Willow, in her tiny act of self-love, reminded me that vulnerability restores voice, and kindness toward ourselves restores vision.  

Watching Willow kiss her reflection felt like an invitation back to the beginning:

Back to softness.

Back to the possibility.

Back to myself.

So, today, I’m taking my cue from Willow. I’m choosing to inch a little closer to my own reflection, not with critique, but with curiosity. To speak a little more honestly, to see myself a little more kindly, and to let vulnerability reopen the parts of me that learned to stay quiet. Because maybe the path to our voice and our vision isn’t grand or dramatic. Maybe it’s as small–and as brave–as leaning in, smiling softly, and remembering that we were once unafraid to love the person looking back at us. 

Maybe the work now is to scoot a little closer.

And maybe that’s the invitation: to reflect with kindness. Letting the mirror become a place of discovery instead of judgment. A place to honor where we’ve been and who we’ve become.

Watching Willow kiss her reflection felt like an invitation back to the beginning.

TAKE ACTION: If you’re ready to step closer to your own reflection–to embrace your vulnerability, strengthen your voice, and clarify your vision–reach out. Deborah helps people find their words, so they can express their truth, reclaim their confidence, and bring their inner vision to life. Let’s discover the words that are waiting inside you. Connect with Deborah Kane on Facebook.