A Gentle Touch Inside
Yana Northen • 3 June 2025
Sometimes, a meeting with yourself doesn’t happen in the noise of life, but in the quiet of the morning — in a reflection, a movement, a touch.
Today, I want to share a moment that felt like seeing myself for the first time.
Every morning, I wake up, absentmindedly brush my hair, and head to the kitchen to make coffee.
Only briefly do I glance at myself in the mirror while picking out what to wear — and then I disappear into the current of the day.
But this morning was different.
I woke up, sat on the edge of the bed — and held my gaze on my reflection in the mirror.
I began to really look.
At my shoulders, my arms, my back, my hips, my face.
I have no idea how much time passed.
But the longer I looked, the more clearly I began to feel something stir inside.
It was as if I were meeting my body all over again.
I wrapped my arms around myself, ran my fingers through my hair, covered my face with my hands.
There was something special in every movement, every touch.
It was a dialogue.
My body responded — without words.
With movement. Warmth. Presence.
I noticed how something shifts
when I hold my legs close,
when I cradle my foot in my hand,
when I hide my face in my palms — and quietly say to myself:
“I’m here. Don’t be afraid. I’m with you.”
And I was.
With all my pain, my tenderness, my frozen sadness, and my hope.
Fragile. Unguarded.
But there I was.
And then I felt it — my body was speaking to me.
Not as something separate.
Not as just a shape.
But as part of me: alive, wise, accepting, understanding.
Maybe these are the moments when we truly meet ourselves.
When we don’t turn away from our reflection.
When we hold our gaze.
When we stay.
When we truly see ourselves.
We live too fast.
We glance at the mirror — without really seeing.
Always rushing somewhere, slipping past the present moment.
But to truly know yourself, all you need to do is pause.
Look.
Really look.
Gently take yourself in.
Allow yourself to be — not perfect,
but just as you are.
To look not at what needs to be fixed —
but at what can be loved.
No one else can give you the closeness, the love, the support
that you can give yourself.
Because only you know what truly matters to you.
Only you know when it hurts.
Only you know what makes you feel truly alive.
And maybe, that quiet inner gaze is the first step —
toward yourself,
toward life,
toward love,
toward presence,
toward peace,
toward harmony
with yourself.
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