Missy Stone Little Missy Ego Page

In the shallow, well-lit gallery of the self, there lived a tiny figure named Missy Stone . She was not a person, but a presence—a quiet hum beneath the skin, a flicker in the chest when a stranger scrolled past your photo without liking it.

Missy Stone realized: Little Missy Ego is not my protector. It is my prison. missy stone little missy ego

Her niece, age four, was stacking blocks. Every time the tower fell, the girl giggled and said, “Again!” No shame. No “I’m a failure.” No comparison to her brother’s taller tower. In the shallow, well-lit gallery of the self,

So the next time you feel that familiar pinch in your chest—that twitch of defensiveness, that hunger for a trophy—pause. Smile. And say softly to the little missy inside: In the shallow