The Warrior in the Mirror

There comes a moment when the mirror stops reflecting and starts revealing — the face, the fight, the faith beneath it all. These words were born in that moment: between silence and surrender, where grace wrestles with flesh and truth stares back unblinking. What follows isn’t self-pity or confession; it’s a prayer in motion. An unpolished acceptance. A glimpse of a woman learning to meet herself — wholly, honestly, and through the eyes of God who never stopped calling her worthy.

Staring into the mirror, I barely recognize the woman looking back. Once, my hair burned red — now it’s threaded with soft strands of gray. My face has softened; the sharp angles I knew have been blunted by time and something heavier. Maybe it’s the extra twenty pounds  clinging to a body that once moved lightly through the world.

I used to be thin without trying, toned with little effort. A fast metabolism and a faster life kept me active in motion. But somewhere along the way — through illness, exhaustion, and change — that rhythm slipped away. My skin doesn’t rebound. My waistline has softened. It’s not just the weight; it’s what came with it. The fog. The fight. The slow invasion of early menopause, uninvited and merciless, rewriting my moods, my sleep, my sense of self.

I keep staring at the 45-year-old woman in the glass, and finally, I see something familiar. Her eyes — still blue and green, still strong willed — meet mine. Tired? Yes. But not broken. Some days, the enemy isn’t my reflection; it’s the voice inside. I’m not wearing my metaphorical armor when I wake, but I feel its weight all the same. My thoughts crash in waves — some gentle, others violent enough to drop me. But I stand. I always stand back up.

There’s a war in my mind — silent, brutal. Doubt is a patient assassin, whispering that I’m not enough. Fear flanks me with “what ifs” and “not yets.” Even hope, at times, feels like a faint drumbeat lost beneath the noise.

But I fight.

Each breath I take is both a choice and a mercy. Each step forward is defiance and faith. By the grace of God, I’ve survived every battle thrown at me — bloodied, bruised, but never beaten. Never abandoned.

Today, I make a promise.

Today, I choose discipline — not as punishment, but as devotion. Patience instead of shame. Intention instead of anger. Love instead of fear. Every step, every drop of sweat, every doubt I silence is another victory.

I am not chasing skinny. I am not chasing ghosts of the woman I used to be.

I am chasing strength. Peace. Confidence.

I am learning to see myself the way God already does.

Some days I don’t feel like a warrior. Some days I crumble. But strength doesn’t always roar. And Jesus doesn’t always remove the battle. Sometimes He whispers,

“Just one more step. One day at a time. Keep going.”

And so I will.

— Amy Lee Murr

Still standing. Still creating. Still seeking.

Faith uncaged.