Where the armor softens and the soul is seen.
When we are young, we chase the illusion of perfection, smooth skin, unmarked stories, the body still untouched by time.
But as the years move through us, we begin to fall in love with something deeper, the texture of living.
The laugh lines carved by joy, the tender creases born of endurance, the way the fascia of the soul stretches to hold all that we have felt and survived.
With less energy to hold our shields high, we begin to open and in that revealing, we recognize one another. What once felt like imperfection now glows as evidence of life fully lived.
The body tells its story, and the story is beautiful.
The art of healing is not in staying unmarked, but in learning to love the lines that shaped us.
