Praised Image, Overexposed Reflection

A praised image is easy to build. You dress it, pose it, accessorize it, and let the world applaud it. Because applause feels like acceptance, and acceptance feels like identity. I knew how to create an image that looked whole, polished, and put together. I knew how to walk into a room and let the labels speak louder than my truth.

But the reflection?

The reflection doesn’t care about labels, lighting, or likes.

The reflection tells the truth — even when the truth is too bright, too raw, too revealing.

That’s what makes it overexposed:

too much light on places I tried to keep in the dark,

too much honesty on a woman I barely recognized,

too much revelation for the version of me the world celebrated.

And then came the day when the reflection didn’t just reveal me — it startled me.

I walked past the mirror and froze.

Not because the outfit was giving.

Not because the image was polished.

I froze because the woman staring back looked like a stranger who had broken into my life.

Her eyes were tired in a way makeup couldn’t brighten.

Her spirit was dim in a way designer couldn’t disguise.

Her truth was loud in a way my image couldn’t silence.

For a split second, panic rose in my chest.

I literally whispered, “Who is that? Somebody call the police — there’s an intruder in my house.”

But the intruder wasn’t in my home.

She was in my mirror.

She was in my choices.

She was in the parts of me I refused to confront.

That was the moment the praised image cracked, and the overexposed reflection stepped forward with the revelation I could no longer avoid. Because every reflection carries a revelation, and every revelation carries an invitation:

to see yourself differently,

to choose yourself honestly,

to become yourself fully.

—

Closing Reflection

I’m learning to see myself with clarity instead of criticism.

I’m choosing truth over the image and healing over the habits that once held me back.

Self‑hate has no authority here.

Self‑sabotage has no seat at my table.

I honor the woman in the reflection — not the one I performed, but the one I’m becoming.

I am rising with intention, choosing myself with courage, and loving myself with honesty.

And so it is written.