I'm probably the saddest-happiest girl you'll ever know. There are days when the world feels heavier than it ought to, and I find myself exhausted by things that seem effortless for everyone else. There are losses I still carry, disappointments I never fully recovered from, and versions of myself I quietly mourn. Most days, sadness wins. It sits beside me in quiet rooms, follows me through crowded ones, and colors more of my life than I care to admit. I spent years at war with myself. Picking apart my flaws, magnifying my mistakes, and carrying the quiet suspicion that everyone else had received a map for life that I somehow missed. For the longest time, I thought my sadness was something I had to hide. Something that made me difficult to love, difficult to understand. Yet something in me remains stubbornly soft. Beautiful skies still stop me in my tracks. Small moments of joy still find their way to me. And despite everything, I cannot seem to let go of the belief that there is something worth looking forward to beyond tomorrow. Then, somewhere along the way, a different perspective found its way into my life. And perhaps that is why I dislike myself a little less these days. Not because anything was fixed. Not because the storms disappeared. But because I began to wonder if I had been looking at myself too cruelly all along. The storms are still there. So is the rain. But now, when I catch sight of flowers growing through broken concrete, I think of how resilient beautiful things can be. Including me. M. | wounds & flowers June 2026

I'm probably the saddest-happiest girl you'll ever know. There are days when the world feels heavier than it ought to, and I find myself exhausted by things that seem effortless for everyone else. There are losses I still carry, disappointments I never fully recovered from, and versions of myself I quietly mourn. Most days, sadness wins. It sits beside me in quiet rooms, follows me through crowded ones, and colors more of my life than I care to admit. I spent years at war with myself. Picking apart my flaws, magnifying my mistakes, and carrying the quiet suspicion that everyone else had received a map for life that I somehow missed. For the longest time, I thought my sadness was something I had to hide. Something that made me difficult to love, difficult to understand. Yet something in me remains stubbornly soft. Beautiful skies still stop me in my tracks. Small moments of joy still find their way to me. And despite everything, I cannot seem to let go of the belief that there is something worth looking forward to beyond tomorrow. Then, somewhere along the way, a different perspective found its way into my life. And perhaps that is why I dislike myself a little less these days. Not because anything was fixed. Not because the storms disappeared. But because I began to wonder if I had been looking at myself too cruelly all along. The storms are still there. So is the rain. But now, when I catch sight of flowers growing through broken concrete, I think of how resilient beautiful things can be. Including me. M. | wounds & flowers June 2026

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