When they called me ugly, my mother didn’t flinch.
She didn’t lash out, didn’t raise her voice, didn’t waste her breath on people who only look with their eyes and never with their hearts.
Instead, she looked at me — really looked — with that quiet, glowing love only a mother can carry.
A love so gentle, so steady, so powerful it can erase wounds before they even touch the skin. ✨🤱💛
I am still so small.
I don’t understand the sharpness of the world, the judgments, the whispers, the careless words that adults throw around like they mean nothing.But I already understand one thing with every beat of my tiny heart:
true beauty has nothing to do with mirrors.
It lives in warm laps, in tiny hands squeezing back, in forehead kisses, and in soft whispers of “You’re perfect, my baby.” 👶🏻💞
Every time she lifts me close, every time she brushes my hair with her fingertips, every time she says,
“You are perfect to me,”
something inside me shines a little brighter.
Because even before I can speak, I feel a truth bigger than anything I can name:
beauty is small…
but being loved?
Being loved is everything. 💛🌈
So I smile like this — wide, fearless, full of light —
because in her eyes, I am already enough.
Already worthy.
Already loved more deeply than the world will ever understand. ✨💛
And honestly?
That love alone is enough to make my little heart endlessly, overwhelmingly happy. 🥰👶🏻💖