By the time I saw my own worth and value, it sparkled at me from the face of an old woman.

The look in the little girl’s eyes had always caught my attention. I saw something in her face. Her head turned ever so slightly. There was an unsure look in her big brown eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, more resembling an ellipse than a smile. She looked confused. All three of the children’s eyes were bright with their light, their intrinsic value. Each would become reflections of what they were shown.

The old black and white photo seemed different. It had grown duller and flatter somehow. Its emotional charge was no longer there. The unresolved pain of the child now reconciled in the old woman a metamorphosis of energy. The little girl’s confusion laid to rest; she was fully embraced and allowed to feel and grieve her pain. She emerged from the shadow of judgment and shame. This judgment had confined her and her ancestors to a box in the dark. At last, she found the beauty in herself.

Like the unreliable narrators of the past, they see themselves as separate from nature. They seek safety and value through validation from society. This creates a false pattern for man to feel safe, but suffocates him in the process.