I DIED IN THE MIRROR BUT GOD CALLED ME BACK TO LIFE

I don’t know the exact day I died.

It wasn’t loud. There was no crash, no scream, no drama.

It was silent.

Slow.

Private.

Like the way a candle fades when no one is watching.

I died in the mirror.

One morning, I looked at my reflection and I didn’t know her.

I saw someone tired. Someone dry. Someone unloved.

I saw a body that didn’t feel like home.

Eyes that had seen too much.

A woman who had survived too many things… and started to believe she was too broken to ever be chosen again.

This wasn’t depression. This was disconnection.

From myself.

From my worth.

From the girl I used to be.

The one who danced to music even if no one else was dancing.

The one who laughed too loudly and dreamed with her whole chest.

The one who once believed she could change her story.

I missed her.

I grieved her.

I buried her every time I said, “I’m fine” when I wasn’t.

And I kept pretending for my child, for my pride, for survival.

But bestie, what they don’t tell you is that when a woman dies inside, she still moves.

She still cooks, still answers messages, still shows up with lipstick on.

She smiles with her mouth… but she’s numb on the inside.

And that was me.

Numb.

Empty.

Ashamed that I let myself go.

Ashamed that I stayed too long in places that treated me like a burden.

And worst of all ashamed that I blamed myself for it all.

The men I loved didn’t love me back in the way I needed.

They wanted parts of me the soft voice, the loyalty, the body, the peace.

But when it was time to see my wounds? To hold my pain? To commit?

They disappeared.

And every time they did, I looked in the mirror and asked:

“What’s wrong with me?”

And every time… I found a new reason to hate myself.

My stretch marks.

My skin tone.

My tired face.

My loud emotions.

My quiet silence.

My trauma.

But God… oh, … God didn’t let me stay dead for long.

He let me feel the weight of it.

He let me run out of excuses.

He let me break down privately… so that He could resurrect me quietly.

No one saw it happen.

Not even I did.

But He began to speak not through church or strangers but in whispers.

In the bath.

In the silence before Bontle woke up.

In the space between tears and surrender.

He said:

“You’re not ugly you’re exhausted.”

“You’re not broken you’re becoming.”

“You’re not unworthy you’re just unseen by people who don’t have the eyes to value you.”

And suddenly… my healing began.

It didn’t look like glow-ups and fancy outfits.

It looked like crying on the floor with my hands in prayer.

It looked like wiping my tears and making breakfast anyway.

It looked like looking in the mirror and saying:

“God still lives in this body.

So it must still be holy even in pain.”

One morning, I looked at my reflection again.

Still tired.

Still healing.

Still soft.

But this time… something was different.

My eyes were warmer.

My spirit was present.

There was a flicker a small flame of life returning.

And I realized:

God didn’t save me from dying in the mirror so I could be perfect.

He saved me so I could be present.

So I could see myself clearly again.

So I could raise my daughter with love, not lack.

So I could stop begging people to choose me and start choosing myself first.

Bestie, this is for the girl who thinks she’s too far gone:

You are not lost.

You are not disgusting.

You are not unworthy of love.

You just need to come home to yourself.

You just need to remember who God says you are.

Here’s what He told me when I was half-dead, tear-stained, and faithless:

“You were never supposed to be kept by man you were always mine.

I will restore what was stolen.

I will give you peace that doesn’t depend on how people treat you.

I will teach you to love your body, your history, your scars because they all carried you here.

And here… is where your life begins again.”

So now?

I still cry sometimes.

I still have days when I don’t feel pretty, or strong, or glowing.

But I don’t die in the mirror anymore.

Because I know the girl looking back at me is still becoming.

Still growing.

Still chosen.

By God.

By peace.

By herself.

And that… that is the most powerful kind of resurrection there is. 🕊️

“If you saw yourself in this, just know… you’re not alone. I’ve walked it. I survived it. And so will you.”