By: Manal Rabiey
Sometimes I stand before my inner mirror and see only the faces of accusations I have carved with my own hands on the wall of my heart. Every harsh word I have spoken to myself becomes a poisoned arrow, piercing my chest with a new scar, until my heart turns into a secret courtroom where I am both judge and accused and the only verdict is condemnation. I pass the sentences and execute them in the silence of night, while my inner voice rises above all the outer noises, so that I appear calm to others while inside I burn.
In those moments I long for a hand that does not judge but wipes the dust of tears from my face. I need someone who can see beyond my harshness towards myself, who can recognize my purity and my hunger for truth, who understands that I punish myself because I love what is pure. I need eyes that do more than watch – eyes that save. I need a chest where I can rest so my inner self collapses under the weight of those charges, and my features return to their first shape before shadows covered them.
When such a person comes, they become like water washing ancient stone clean of its ages. They remind me that I am not my own jailer but a human being trying, stumbling, and rising again. Their voice feels like an old prayer in a silent temple, awakening the seed of self-forgiveness within me, opening a window of light in my heart. And I learn that mercy begins inside, that one true embrace can rescue me from myself before it rescues me from the world, returning me to my essence – whole despite my flaws, radiant despite all the darkness.
