I gave myself the good towel, not the old one

Dear Delyara, I reached for the rough older towel out of habit, the one I always use when I’m not really thinking about myself as someone worth gentleness. Then I stopped and took the softer one instead. That was the whole moment. And it mattered. Because I realized how often care hides in these tiny private choices no one else sees. Which towel. Which plate. Which lamp. Which tone I use with myself when no one is around. The moral texture of a life can sit inside very small decisions. This week, I chose the softer towel. And something in me noticed.