I didn’t wake up deciding to be that girl. That would be too polished and too intentional for how my mind usually works. I like the quiet chaos, and the rush of getting ready as quickly as possible, and looking as simple as possible. Attention was something I avoided instead of wanted. 

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I walk up to the mirror and look at my reflection — just woken up before doing my make up, and just enough to look presentable after I’m done. 

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Red lipstick always felt like it belonged to other people. Those who already know how to take up space, and those who look forward to seeing other people, instead of being on the low. It's for those who don’t rehearse coffee orders, and conversations in their head five times before saying hello. 

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For me, it felt like a statement I haven’t earned yet —- but I bought it anyway, hoping that someday, just like the confidence of walking up to someone and starting a conversation, that I decide to unconsciously put it on as part of my routine. 

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Maybe today is that day. 

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The first time I opened the tube, I remember hesitating longer than I should have — maybe a minute or two is not a normal amount of time to just be looking at an item that’s smaller than my outstretched hand. It looked almost unreal as I looked at it. Brighter than I expected, and for some weird reason, quite heavy for an item so small. I almost even wiped it off immediately after applying it. Almost.

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I made it outside and the first few hours were strange. I could feel it more than I could see it — like a presence on my face I wasn’t used to carrying, and a feeling of having eyes on me that I wasn’t used to seeing. Which is weird, because I kept wondering if people noticed, and then immediately hoping they didn’t. I wasn’t suddenly confident. If anything, I was more aware and conscious of myself than usual.

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But ever so slowly, as if like a flower beginning to blossom, something started to happen. 

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At some point in the day, I stopped checking my reflection on store windows and glass panels. I stopped adjusting my posture and rolling my shoulders every five minutes. I stopped asking myself if I looked “too much”. Deep down I knew it wasn’t confidence yet, not the kind you identify with or name easily. I knew this wasn’t a total transformation — but it was quieter, and more like a pause in self-correction.

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I knew that’s when #ImWorthIt started to make sense in a way I didn’t expect. Not as a loud affirmation, but something softer. It was more of a reminder that worth isn’t something you unlock after becoming a different version of yourself —- it’s something you carry even in the moments you’re still unsure. 

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By the time I got home, the tint on my lips had faded unevenly, but I kept it on a little longer than I needed to. Not because I felt transformed, but because I wasn’t in a rush to take that version of myself away either. 

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And maybe that’s what changed. Not becoming someone new, but allowing myself, even briefly, not to disappear. Because tomorrow morning when I look in the mirror, even before I do my makeup and put on my lipstick, I’m now certain that the me that will be staring back will be #WorthIt.

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