I’m That Girl

Close your eyes.

you are already the best version of yourself

Your brain is so powerful it doesn’t even wait for reality to show up. It believes whatever you give it. It can’t tell imagination from memory, it just responds. The moment you picture yourself clearly, fully, honestly, your neurons start firing like “oh, we doing that now?” and your whole mind begins rewriting itself around the vision you fed it. Little shifts. New wiring. New possibilities. That’s what’s wild about you. You can literally think yourself into becoming.

So let’s build something.
The best version of ourselves.
Not in a forced way. Not in a “visualize the perfect version of yourself” way. More like… let’s remember her. Let’s check in on the woman you’ve always known was there. The one who whispers underneath the noise. The one who’s been waiting for you to slow down long enough to feel her again. She’s not far. She never was.

Picture her the way you’d describe your best friend to a stranger. Soft. Familiar. Detailed without effort. How does she show up when she’s not holding everyone else’s expectations? How does she look when she’s rested, loved, chosen by herself first? What does her presence feel like when she’s finally stopped shrinking for rooms that never deserved that much of her?

Think about her face. The kind of glow that comes from peace, not filters. Think about the light she carries when she’s not dimming herself out of habit. Think about how she walks into a room, not arrogantly, but anchored. Like she knows she belongs anywhere her feet decide to land. Like her body isn’t something she battles. It’s something she inhabits. Skin glistening like morning light. Moisturized. Luminous. Sun-kissed melanin radiating like her aura’s been charging overnight.

And then… her scent.
Does she smell like clean linen because her life finally feels uncluttered?
Warm vanilla because she’s settled, steady, safe in her own skin?
Fresh citrus because her energy is bright and unbothered?
Or does she walk in like flowers, incense, and subtle magic — that Jhené Aiko softness mixed with the kind of mystery Rihanna carries? You know the one. The scent every person she’s ever passed has mentioned. The one people describe like a spell. The one that says “I’m unforgettable” without her opening her mouth.

Whatever rises up, trust it. Your brain is building the file. Recognizing it. Preparing to match it. You don’t have to perfect the picture. You just have to let her exist long enough for your mind to quietly say, “Oh… I see her.”

we dont come into this world thinking less of ourselves

We arrive whole. Untouched by comparison. Unbothered by mirrors. Certain of our own enoughness without ever needing to say it out loud. There’s this softness babies have, this unshaken confidence, this quiet belief that every pair of eyes looking at them is looking with love. And in the beginning, they’re right. We clap when they smile. We cheer when they wobble. We treat their existence like a miracle because it is.

And then somewhere along the way, the world starts whispering things that were never meant for us. Not all at once. Just little pieces. A comment said too casually. A comparison dropped like an afterthought. A look someone didn’t know you caught. A joke that wasn’t really a joke. Tiny moments that land heavier than they should. You don’t realize it at the time, you just start collecting things that were never yours to carry.

And slowly, without meaning to, you begin rewriting the way you see yourself. You dim without knowing you’re dimming. You soften in places you were never meant to shrink. You start treating your reflection like it needs permission. You start treating your voice like it needs approval. You start treating your presence like it might be too much.

You change everything that makes you, you, to become more palatable to everyone else. And I know what you’re going to say. You would never. Maybe you today wouldnt, but little you? Inner you? She already did.

You weren’t born doubting your glow.
You weren’t born critiquing your body.
You weren’t born waiting for someone else to confirm your worth.

Those thoughts were handed to you, piece by piece, wrapped in someone else’s insecurity, shaped by someone else’s unhealed story, delivered by people who never learned how to love themselves loudly enough to leave you untouched. By children who heard critiques from the adults in their lives who were supposed to build them up. By other adults who continued the cycle of breaking you down to shape you for the harshness of “the real world”.

And the wildest part is how quietly that shift happens. How you can go years believing that the doubt came from inside you, when the truth is that you simply absorbed what you were exposed to. Children do that. They believe what they hear. They internalize what they see. They trust the voices around them more than the one inside them. And sometimes they pass that on to every other child they come in contact with.

But the voice inside you isn’t gone. She’s just waiting for space. Waiting for warmth. Waiting for the moment you realize that everything you were taught can be untaught. Everything you absorbed can be released. Everything you believed about your smallness can be replaced by the truth you knew when you first got here.

You were born untouched by doubt.
And that part of you is still here, still whole, still reachable, still yours to return to.

Just keep breathing into her. She’s not far.

A Woman Who Moves Like Truth

Who is that for you?
There’s a woman who has lived in the back of my mind for years, and every time I see her, she reminds me what it looks like to just… be rooted. Not performing. Not trying. Just comfortable in her own skin in a way that feels almost ancestral.

Dana Elaine Owens.

There’s something about the way she moves that feels like a meditation all its own. She isn’t loud, but she’s heard. She isn’t flashy, but she’s seen. She doesn’t rush to prove anything, yet everything about her confirms what she already knows. She carries a softness that’s never been mistaken for smallness, a confidence that isn’t loud but lives in her body like breath. An aura that says her presence has never once bent to fit a room.

She walks with this quiet command, like she trusts herself in every direction. The perfect blend of masculine and feminine energy. It’s almost like she knows she could shift the gravity in a room just by deciding to. Not because she’s trying. Because she’s aligned. Because she’s anchored. Because the world has learned to adjust around her presence, not the other way around. A kind of beauty that doesn’t age, it deepens.

Her smile feels warm, like the touch of the sun. When she speaks, it sounds like she’s choosing every word from a place of intention. And when she stands next to other women, you can feel that she doesn’t compete. She trusts her own shine too much to ever need to dim anyone else’s.

To me, that’s what being “her” really looks like.
Presence. Energy. Aura. Intention.

The kind that reminds you that you don’t have to force confidence. You just have to stop negotiating with everything that tries to convince you you don’t have any.

She’s the type of woman who makes you sit up a little taller. The type who shows you, without ever having to say a word, that you can be soft and solid at the same time. Both steady and radiant. Warm and untouchable. And maybe that’s why she stays in the back of my mind when I think about becoming. Not because I want to be her, but because looking at her makes it impossible to forget the version of myself I’m trying to return to.

She has never given the energy of someone chasing approval. She walks like a woman who arrived at acceptance before the rest of us got the memo.

The Queen carries herself like a woman who has nothing to prove.
And that alone is a masterclass.

you were born that girl

Long before the world taught you anything different. Long before the comments, the comparisons, the quiet corrections about how to be, how to look, how to fit. There was a time when you didn’t second-guess a single part of yourself. A time when you walked into rooms without checking who might be watching. A time when you smiled without wondering how your face might be received. A time when you didn’t shrink, because shrinking had never even occurred to you.

You came here whole.
Unedited. Unbothered. Uncompromised.

Somewhere inside you is a girl who believed she was magic just because she existed. She didn’t need validation. She didn’t need algorithms. She didn’t need soft lighting or the right angle or someone else’s approval to feel complete. She woke up assuming she was worthy, assuming she was loved, assuming the world was lucky to have her in it.

That knowing didn’t disappear.
It just got buried.

Layered under the voices of people who didn’t see you clearly. Covered by the expectations of people who never saw themselves clearly. Pressed down by memories that taught you to protect yourself instead of expressing yourself.

And still… you were that girl.
Even in the moments you forgot.
Even in the years you dimmed yourself out of habit.
Even when you stopped looking in mirrors because you didn’t want to negotiate with your reflection anymore.

And the wild thing is, the version of you that came here knowing she was enough is still the truest version of you. She’s still in there. She’s still whole. She’s still untouched by everything you’ve lived through. She’s still waiting for you to slow down long enough to hear her again.

You were born with brilliance already in your soul.
Born with softness that didn’t apologize.
Born with presence that didn’t ask permission.
Born with a glow that didn’t need to be earned.

And if someone taught you otherwise, that doesn’t change the truth. It just means you’ve been living out loud with the wrong script. It means your self-perception got tampered with by people who were carrying more of their own insecurities than they could hold. It means you adapted to survive, even when survival cost you pieces of yourself.

But nothing about you was ever lacking.
Nothing about you was ever ordinary.
Nothing about you was ever meant to be smaller than your spirit.

You were born that girl.
And the most beautiful thing you can do is remember it.