And I started charging admission to the damn reflection.
Once upon a gaslight,
I couldn’t even glance at a mirror
without hearing ghosts in my own damn voice.
“Fix your face.”
“Shrink your light.”
“Smile, or at least flinch cutely.”
Now?
I catch my reflection mid-scroll like—
“Who is that resilient beast in mascara and a zero-tolerance policy?”
It’s me, b*tch. Fully un-possessed and highly moisturized.
See, the glow-up wasn’t physical.
It was psychological.
It was spiritual.
It was 3 a.m. shadow work
and rewriting the captions they carved into my core.
I replaced “too much” with “you’re underqualified to perceive me.”
I replaced “unlovable” with “unavailable to the emotionally bankrupt.”
And now?
Narcissists vanish like cockroaches in a ring light.
They don’t block me out of self-care.
They block me because I started talking back to their script—
with punchlines.
Because here’s the thing:
They love mirrors.
As long as the mirror reflects them.
But the second it reflects truth?
Boundaries?
Healing?
A domain name with a goat on it?
Suddenly I’m “too loud.”
“Too self-assured.”
“Too healed to manipulate.”
Oops.
Now I strut past the mirror like it’s a TED Talk backdrop.
Every step says:
“I survived you, outgrew you,
and now I sell merch with your catchphrases spelled wrong on purpose.”
My reflection isn’t for them anymore.
It’s for me.
It’s the daily encore of a woman who made it out.
So yeah—
I don’t want your apology.
I want royalties.
Because you used me for reflection.
And I turned that sh*t into production.
The mirror doesn’t lie.
But it does invoice.
Narcissists Hate Me Because I Look Better in the Mirror Now
I see me now—no filter, bold.
They see control that can’t be sold.
The mirror cracked, then showed me fire—
And every leech just lost desire.
They stare and hiss, they scheme and seethe,
But baby, I’m the one who breathes.
I posted proof, I framed the glow—
And now my selfies steal the show.
—The Funny Phoenix, flaming with fierce reflection
