You’re still rising!

When you look in the mirror—who do you see?

Let me guess. You see someone who’s just trying to make it through the day without spiraling into a full-blown existential crisis in the cereal aisle. You see someone who thought they’d have life figured out by now—only to realize that “figured out” is just a marketing slogan they put on adulting.

You see tired eyes. A face that’s aged not from years but from meetings that could’ve been emails. Wrinkles you didn’t sign up for. A hairline that’s been slowly ghosting you. Maybe you’re holding a cup of coffee you reheated three times, and you’re not entirely sure if you’re smelling caffeine or disappointment.

But look closer.

Look past the laundry you forgot to fold.

Past the dreams that feel on pause.

Past the job search tabs you’ve minimized a thousand times and the cover letters that felt more like confessions to a stranger who never wrote back.

Because when I look in the mirror—when I really look—I see someone who got back up.

I see a person who’s been through layoffs, setbacks, ghosting, rejection emails addressed “Dear Candidate” (even after four rounds of interviews and a three-slide PowerPoint presentation about your strategic vision).

I see a person who still held the door open for others while their own was being slammed shut. Who still cheered for friends who got the job you wanted. Who still answers, “I’m fine,” when you’re anything but—because you’re trying not to make other people uncomfortable with your unraveling.

I see a fighter in business casual. A legend in Target sweatpants. A survivor of corporate chaos and microwave sadness.

I see someone who learned the hard way that your value was never in your job title or your productivity. That you don’t need a corner office or a blue checkmark to be enough.

You’re already enough. Even if today you’re crying into your coffee and questioning your entire career trajectory because Chad with a trust fund and a ring light got the job.

You are not invisible.

You’re not past your prime. You are the prime.

You bring experience, empathy, and energy that doesn’t come with a Gen Z handbook. You bring stories, scars, and wisdom they can’t Google.

So when you look in the mirror tomorrow—yes, with your bedhead and your doubts and your hoodie from 2011—remember this:

That face? That’s the face of someone who’s still in it.

Still rising.

Still laughing.

Still showing up.

And that, my friend, is someone the world needs.

Now go finish your coffee. Or reheat it. Again.

You’ve got mirrors to smile at and a story that’s nowhere near over.