I was but a child of four years, and my garments felt as though they conspired against my tender frame. My frock, woven of plaid wool, scratched at my flesh as the midday heat seemed to intensify its cruel embrace. The settee upon which I perched—a relic of green upholstery—offered no solace, its coarse texture compounding my disquiet. My stockings, crafted of white cotton and ill-fitted to my limbs, twisted most ungraciously, their seams pressing unkindly into my legs. Yet there was no reprieve; the hour of our family portrait demanded stillness and decorum.
“Be still, child,” came my mother’s instruction, her tone stern, though tinged with a wearied exasperation. My knees, pressed tightly together, conveyed the discomfort I dared not voice aloud, while my small hands fidgeted with the hem of my dress. The device, handled expertly by my uncle, emitted the faintest mechanical click as he adjusted its focus, a prelude to the moment of capture. My scalp bore the torment of tightly bound tresses, the ache persistent yet masked beneath the forced smile upon my lips.
Time passed, and the photograph was revealed—a representation of perfection: smooth locks, an impeccable frock, and a serene visage. Yet as I gazed upon this image in later years, none of its visual triumphs came to mind. Instead, I recalled the discomposure of that day—the oppressive heat, the biting fabric, the twisted stockings that seemed intent upon vexing me. The veneer of perfection concealed the reality, as oft it does, for the world sees but the surface while the soul bears its truths silently.
Such reflections prompt one to ponder: how oft do we suppress our unease, our pain, to present that which others expect? How many smiles conceal hearts longing for liberation?
Behind the smiles we wear, there are often untold stories. What does your untold story look like? I would love to hear your thoughts!
Echoes of Light 
I would love to hear your thoughts!