I was returning home from my Bharatanatyam practice session when a speeding car rammed into my scooter, throwing me into the air. I hit the ground with a thud, and within seconds, everything went black.

Two days later, when I woke up in the hospital, I saw my family standing beside me. I felt great relief, but when I touched my face, it didn’t feel like mine anymore. My mother couldn’t meet my eyes, and in that moment, I knew something had changed forever.

I asked the nurse to get me a mirror and brought it close to my face. One glance and my heart dropped. My once beautiful and crystal-clear face now had many scars “This is not me!” I yelled and hurled the mirror across the room. It crashed against the wall, shattering into pieces.

I looked at my reflection in the broken mirror scattered on the ground. It stared back—calm, unwavering and whispered, “Look at those dark brown eyes. They still hold the magic of expressing a thousand things that your face never could. They are louder than any gesture. So why do you feel unworthy? Your face may have scars, but that doesn’t strip away your talent. You wear your wounds like chains. Can’t you see? They’re choking the life out of you. Throw them off. Stop shrinking. Stop sulking. You’re still alive. That means you’re not done yet. Learn to be grateful”

I blinked back tears and swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yes, I’m alive… bu—but these scars… they make me look ugly. Who would want to watch me perform now?

“Were you known only for your beauty and not for your talent? That’s a wrong notion. Stop being pessimistic. Scars may fade gradually, but the talent stays,” the shard responded.

“Now my sister will grab all the attention,” I said.

“Are you serious? Even if she grabs attention, she is your sister after all.  Being jealous is not a good sign. She is playing her role, you yours, and that’s what matters.” A voice came from the scattered mirror, barely above a whisper.

I sighed, picked up one of the broken shards and retaliated, “No, I am not jealous. Don’t make me feel one! But, yes, I feel insecure. Dance is my passion, and applause is validation. I don’t want to be left behind. Just the thought of it is making my steps falter.”

“Comparison and insecurities steal away confidence and joy,” the shard calmly replied, then slipped from my trembling fingers, shattering on the floor into many more pieces.

Each fragment held myriad versions of me - the confident performer, the insecure sister, and the fear of fading. I stared at them all and realized it was time to stop looking for validation and start dancing because that’s my passion, my first and forever love.

When the cleaning staff meticulously swept the shards of the mirror into a corner, I thanked the broken pieces for what they revealed.