How I Found My Glow When Admiration Faded

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I remember that evening clearly.
The house smelled of dal and rice.
The TV played softly.
No one really listened.
My husband sat at the table, reading something on his phone.
I wore a new kurti.
I smiled.
He didn’t notice.

At first, it hurt.
I used to live for these small acknowledgments.
The “you look nice” after a long day.
The “thank you” for making tea.
The little things that made me feel seen.
Now, silence had replaced them.

Even motherhood couldn’t shield me.
My sons ran around laughing, screaming, demanding snacks.
I fed them, kissed them, sent them back to homework.
No one asked if I was okay.
I loved them deeply, but sometimes I felt invisible.

I tried not to let it show.
I stirred the curry again, even though it didn’t need stirring.
I sat on the balcony with a cup of tea.
Across the street, an old couple walked hand in hand.
They laughed.
And I wondered quietly — when did we stop noticing each other like that?

It wasn’t just my marriage.
It was everywhere.
In friendships that used to be warm, now reduced to polite small talk.
In office meetings, compliments were replaced by deadlines and nods.
In life itself, admiration faded faster than I could catch it.

I went to Kochi for a workshop.
Alone.
No one to impress.
No one to notice.
The sea was calm.
The sky pink.
I sat on the balcony and finally looked at myself.

And I realized something important:
Admiration from others is temporary.
It comes and goes like waves.
Admiration from within — that’s forever.
That’s where real glow lives.

I started writing again.
Not for praise or recognition.
I wrote about the small victories no one saw.
The mornings I got out of bed even when I wanted to hide.
The meals I cooked with love.
The nights I stayed awake soothing my sons’ fears.
The woman who stayed, who survived, who refused to disappear.

When I returned home, nothing had changed.
The bills were still waiting.
The routine still ran like clockwork.
But I had changed.
I walked with more calm.
I smiled more softly.
I spoke with quiet confidence.

One evening, my husband looked up from his reading.
“You look different,” he said.
I smiled. “Maybe I finally saw myself.”

He didn’t fully understand.
But he hugged me anyway.
And in that hug, I felt admiration return — not from him, but from me.

I realized glow isn’t youth.
It’s not makeup, new dresses, or compliments.
It’s endurance.
It’s being alive in every small act.
It’s peace in the silence.
It’s laughter even when no one notices.

Age doesn’t dim your glow.
Neglect doesn’t erase your beauty.
Silence — it doesn’t mean you’re unseen.
It means the world is quiet enough for you to hear your own voice.

THANK YOU

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This post was previously published on medium.com.