Trials Of Thelma: Unbroken

I stood before the mirror, my reflection staring back at me like an old friend I had never truly known. The woman I saw was a mix of bruised emotions and an unbroken will, but I look different now. Stronger. Wiser. Or maybe I am just tired of pretending that everything was fine when, deep down, I knew that my world had always been one filled with trials. “Why can’t you just be better?” “You’re the eldest! Act like it! You need to be stronger. Better.” My mother’s words weren’t new anymore, but they stung every time. In moments like this, when silence allows these buried memories to surface, these old wounds throbbs the most. The weight of being “the eldest” hung over my head like a dark cloud, suffocating me, reminding me of every responsibility I carried alone. I was expected to be perfect—strong, capable, always in control. But no one saw how hard it was just to breathe sometimes. It was ironic—people often mistook me for the girl who had it all figured out. I had mastered the art of wearing a mask so well that most people never suspected how deeply the cracks ran beneath the surface. I had perfected the art of smiling, of pushing through, of standing tall even when I was crumbling inside. At one point, I had believed that things would get easier with time, that the universe would finally give me a break. But life isn’t always merciful right? It is never always is. There is always something—a new challenge waiting to tear you down, a fresh storm ready to test your resilience and push you over the edge. And yet, even though you are overwhelmed by all that life throws at you, there was still a part of you that refuses to give in. So With every tear, every setback, I cling to the fragile hope that one day I’d rise above it all. That I’d prove them wrong—not for their approval, but for my own peace of mind. Maybe I wasn’t as broken as I believed. Maybe, just maybe, I am unbroken. And maybe… that is enough.