When I look in the mirror I don’t recognise the man staring back at me. In my mind’s eye I’m still a bright eyed young man, the mirror man is tired with bags under his eyes.

His greying hair is not akin to my luscious dark locks. The little wrinkles in his face do not belong on mine. The look of cynicism doesn’t reflect my optimism I feel inside.

He carries some extra kilos, whereas I have always been a stick. I see so many imperfections, I disgust myself.

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When I look in the mirror I notice my change over time, how I’ve grown as a person to the man I am today. My tired eyes reflect the love I have for my young daughters and the comfort I show them in the middle of the night.

A few strands of grey demonstrating my hard work and devotion to my career, and my dignifying with experience. Lines permanently left on my face from all the emotions life provides and smiles with my family. I carry a knowing look, no longer naive but more of a realist.

I’ve got myself to a position where I will never be without and that shows. I know I’m not perfect, but I wouldn’t change a thing.