{"id":1704,"date":"2026-03-25T19:35:00","date_gmt":"2026-03-25T19:35:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wildpoise.com\/?p=1704"},"modified":"2026-05-07T17:57:16","modified_gmt":"2026-05-07T17:57:16","slug":"the-girl-i-was-becoming","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wildpoise.com\/?p=1704","title":{"rendered":"The Girl I Was Becoming"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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The Girl I Was Becoming<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Day 50 – January 12, 2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror this morning and had one of those weird, electric little moments where your own face looks back at you like it knows something you don\u2019t yet have language for. Not the superficial kind. Not the \u201cdo I look tired\u201d kind. Something deeper. Stranger. More intimate. Something like recognition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Transition does that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It sneaks up on you. It changes you gradually enough that you almost miss it, and then one morning the woman in the mirror is suddenly more here than she was last season, last month, last year. Not finished, not finalized, not some glossy little after photo for public consumption. Just more present. More undeniable. More herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two years ago I was just beginning to meet her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Really meet her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not as an idea. Not as a secret. Not as some aching little private truth I had to keep folded up inside myself like a letter no one was allowed to read.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As a woman. A real one. A living one. A woman with a face that was changing, a body that was softening into honesty, and a life that was beginning to feel less like performance and more like home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was excitement in that. Curiosity. Relief. Desire, even. Not just the sexy kind, though I\u2019m not ruling her out. I mean the deeper kind. The desire to fully inhabit myself after spending so much of my life in exile from my own reflection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then life, being the absolute menace that it is, got violent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fear moved in. Survival mode took over. The long ugly machinery of aftermath started grinding through everything. My body stopped being just a site of becoming and turned into a battlefield, a witness, a record, a place that carried more than it should have had to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a while, if I\u2019m being brutally honest, it felt like the becoming got stolen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Like I had been building this beautiful, delicate, thrilling thing. This honest relationship to myself, this womanhood that felt alive and electric and mine. Then suddenly trauma kicked in the door and dragged mud through all of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s how it felt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Interrupted. Contaminated. Bent sideways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But today, standing there in front of the mirror, I realized something that hit me so hard I actually had to stop and look at her properly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn\u2019t stolen. It just took a darker road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The girl I was becoming is still here. She is not gone. She is not ruined. She is not trapped forever inside the version of me that existed before fear learned my name. She just had to grow under different weather.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And yes, there is grief in that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is grief in knowing how soft I was. How hopeful. How open. How excited she was to meet herself in peace instead of through fire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I love that girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I miss how untouched she felt. How unbraced. How certain she still was that becoming yourself could be mostly beautiful if you were brave enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I also need to tell the truth about the woman in the mirror now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She is stunning in a different way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More dangerous. More discerning. More honest. More aware of what bodies survive and what they carry and what they still manage to become anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is more knowledge in her face now. Not age. Not damage. Knowledge. The kind that settles around the eyes when a woman has seen too much and somehow gotten more herself instead of less.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She has boundaries now that aren\u2019t decorative. She has instincts she no longer negotiates with. She has truth in her spine. And she has a kind of beauty I don\u2019t think innocence could have given her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not prettier. Deeper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that matters to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because there is a difference between a woman who has only imagined herself and a woman who has fought for access to herself. The second one moves differently. She knows what it cost. She wears that knowledge like perfume and armor and doesn\u2019t care which one people smell first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Roger saw his own reflection in the mirror and barked at it like it was another dog who owed him money. Self awareness remains highly inconsistent in this household. But mine, today, felt brutal and clean.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The girl I was becoming is still here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She just did not stay soft in the same way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now she has edges. Now she has judgment. Now she has a nervous system with opinions and a face that has learned things the hard way. Now she is becoming someone even more interesting than the girl who started.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That doesn\u2019t erase what was interrupted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it does mean the story kept going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chaos in one hand. Grace in the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the girl I was becoming still here. Hotter, wiser, and harder to fool.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Day 50 – I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror this morning and had a strange moment of recognition. Not the superficial kind. Something deeper. Transition is an interesting experience because your body changes gradually over…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":602,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_kadence_starter_templates_imported_post":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1704","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-chaos-and-grace"],"blocksy_meta":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Girl I Was Becoming - Wild Poise<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"A raw, reflective entry journal entry - honest thoughts on healing, resilience, uncertainty, and rebuilding life one day at a time.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/wildpoise.com\/?p=1704\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Girl I Was Becoming - 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