The pieces of me – Part 2

The lost pieces

I look in the mirror and don’t recognize the overweight, greying auntie looking back at me. She moves when I do. The disapproval I feel deep down washes over her face, and I feel the hurt—the sting of rejection—as she shies away from the mirror.
“That can’t be me! What happened? How did I get here?”

I’m low-key irritated at the younger version of me who thought she wasn’t good enough. Not thin enough. Not vibrant enough.

Anxiety and fear wash over me as I consider the judgment I might face from others. The things they’ll never dare say to my face, but will whisper behind my back, sneering,
“I’d never let myself go like that.”

Yes, I used to think that too. But then my hormones took over. Some left the building, and the rest? They’re having a mad hatter’s picnic—surprising me with something new every week.

Shame—and a need to explain—instantly fills me. Where do I even begin to tell the story?
This body, this version of me… it’s not what I’ve always been. Somewhere over the last couple of years, I lost the sexy, curvy, flirty girl.

Oh, don’t get me wrong—she’s still very much alive.
She’s just hidden beneath layers of comfort, stress, hormonal imbalances, a rushed life, and finally… acceptance.

As I think back to my younger years—
Oh gosh, I sound like my mom!

Anyway, I’m reminded of other pieces of me I’ve lost along the way.

Some pieces didn’t break.
They just… disappeared.

Not all at once, but slowly—like sand slipping through open fingers.

Little parts of me I didn’t even realize were missing, until one day I woke up and thought,
Where did I go?

I lost myself in the should-haves, would-haves, and could-haves.
In the chasing.
In the serving, the showing up, the smoothing over.
In being the good girl, the capable one, the responsible rock.

And in all that becoming for others, I forgot to be for me.

I lost the laughter that came easily.
The curiosity that asked bold questions.
The softness I once carried without apology.

Some of those pieces were taken.
Some I gave away.
Some I abandoned—in exchange for acceptance I never truly received.

But here’s what I’m learning:
Just because something is lost doesn’t mean it’s gone forever.

Somewhere inside, beneath the noise and the layers and the years,
those pieces are still waiting for me to come home to them.

And piece by piece, I am finding them.
Calling them back.
Letting them know it’s safe to return.

These are the lost pieces.
And I’m done leaving myself behind.