THE GLOW-UP SERIES

There was no filter on my face the morning I realized I was burning out, and I had no sleek yoga mat or motivational playlist. Just me, in my oversized T-shirt, staring blankly at the WhatsApp message I hadn’t replied to in three weeks.

“You good?” it said.

I wasn’t, lol.

I used to think glow-ups came with trying new stuffs and new skincare routines. You know, the ones people show off in before-and-after TikTok advertisement posts.

But no one tells you healing sometimes looks like eating cereal at 2 a.m. because your appetite is a mess, or rereading the same paragraph 14 times because your mind’s too loud, or canceling plans with friends you love because your energy doesn’t stretch that far, or trying to pretend you felt the energy of that pick up line a guy gave you.

That was my reality for a while, functioning but fading. Smiling during Zoom calls, crying in the bathroom after. I was stuck in a cycle of over giving and under-feeling. The burnout wasn’t sudden. It was a slow leak, the kind you don’t notice until your spirit is running on fumes. With time you just see it's happened already.

One night, I turned off my phone, not to escape—but to breathe.

I sat on the floor of my room, back against the wall, and just... let myself feel. The guilt, the shame, the exhaustion, the quiet loneliness that comes when you’re always the “strong one.”

And then something shifted

I got up and took a shower. Brushed my hair. Played my favorite sad-girl playlist without skipping the songs that hit too close.

The real glow-up wasn’t loud. It was made of micro-moments:- Saying “no” without a 3-paragraph explanation. Turning off read receipts because boundaries matter.

Drinking water and not calling it “self-care,” just survival. - Catching my anxious thoughts and asking, "is this true or is it trauma talking".

I still have bad days. Still flinch at phone calls. Still forget to eat sometimes. But now, I recognize the signs. I come home to myself quicker.

My glow-up wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t aesthetic. It was private, imperfect, and ongoing.

But it’s mine.

And if you’re somewhere in the messy middle—this is your reminder that healing doesn’t have to look pretty to be powerful.

You're glowing. Even if no one’s posted about it yet.

I didn’t cut my hair or get a revenge body.

I didn’t buy new clothes or start posting quotes with “healed girl era” in cursive font.

I just stopped replying to people who made me question my worth.

I stopped overexplaining.

Stopped shrinking myself in rooms that mistook my softness for weakness.

Stopped saying “It’s okay” when it wasn’t.

I started saying “no” without guilt.

Started sitting with my pain instead of running from it.

Started crying without apologizing for the mess it made.

My glow-up wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t pretty.

It was quiet. Raw. Lonely, even.

But it was real.

No one threw me a party when I forgave someone who never said sorry.

No one clapped when I unfollowed people who made me feel not enough.

No one noticed when I chose sleep over self-sabotage for the third night in a row.

But I noticed.

I noticed the weight lifting.

The silence getting softer.

The mirror feeling less like an enemy.

And maybe it didn’t trend.

Maybe it didn’t come with aesthetic reels or before-and-after photos.

But it was a glow-up all the same.

The kind no one talks about.