“Damn, you look beautiful!” I said to myself and walked out of the bathroom to prepare myself some breakfast. I stopped in the hallway though, and sat down. I cried. I sat there and cried. It was the first time in my life I had ever said something like that while looking in the mirror. I cried for joy and sadness.

For that singular moment in my life I saw myself for the first time. I cried. I cried for what was mine. I came here to reclaim myself in every reflection in every mirror from now on. I came to reclaim every time I lingered in the changing room, trying to figure out which fit better, a head full of drugs or a stomach full of booze. To reclaim every public bathroom mirror for more than a tool for looking over my shoulder. I reclaim this face. I reclaim this voice. I reclaim this body. I reclaim my fashion. My femininity. My basic capacity for love. My family. These are a few things that I know now and always were my own.