whenever dad was in the room she’d change in the closet, and i remember peeking through the door at her white back, waist slender wondering why she didn’t want him to see her, feeling a shame too raw for any nine-year-old and thinking, so this is what it means to be a woman?

and everything in me wanted to cry

for how mum, in all of her beauty, couldn’t see herself.

(for more, please join me today at A Deeper Story. thank you, friends.)