When she looks back on her life, she sees a faded memory. It is of a girl once unsure of herself. She was frightened, lost, and insecure. She can’t help but remember the pain: the disappointments, mistakes, and heartaches that shaped her early years.

The roads she’s traveled come back to her. Some paths felt like quicksand beneath her feet, dry like the Sahara. Potholes the size of Texas seemed impossible to navigate, threatened to swallow her whole.

She thinks of the battles she fought for her marriage, her sanity, and her four small children.

She remembers the struggles born of abandonment. These struggles began as a child, then recurred as an adult. She also recalls the failures and the weight of low self-esteem.

She reflects on the sacrifices she made. She walked away from her education. She faced the heartbreaking reality of letting go of a special-needs child for the child’s best interest. She also placed her own dreams on hold.

She remembers the love she lost. She said goodbye to her baby sister and her beloved grandparents. She also faced the end of a fifteen-year marriage.

She remembers the tears shed in lonely nights, the broken promises that stung, and the shame she carried.

But when she looks back, she also sees the lessons she’s learned.

She sees a girl, not clawing her way up. She is steady enough to stay afloat when life threatens to pull her under. Instead, she had just enough grit to stay afloat when life tried to pull her under. A girl who walked across pebbles, turning them into stepping stones toward higher ground. A girl whose childlike faith in God above blossomed into something far greater than herself. Though her earthly father was often absent, she came to know a Heavenly Father who never once left her side.

When she looks in the mirror, what does she see?

She sees a girl once dejected and rejected—but no longer that sad, little girl. So don’t pity her. Applaud her. It was in the dry seasons that she discovered an oasis. Rejoice with her, for it was in the darkness that she found a beacon of light. Admire her for rising above her crisis despite her circumstances.

She may have started in the valley, pecking along like a chicken searching for worms. But the Ancient of Days taught her to spread her wings like an eagle and soar above the mountaintops.

Don’t cry for her. Don’t grieve for her.

If you’re looking for a lost and lonely child, she is not here. Misunderstood she may be; a wonder to many she may be. If you’re searching for perfection, she is not that girl—she still has flaws. If you expect polished sophistication or profound eloquence, you may be disappointed.

Her past may try to dictate her future. The voices in her head may play a broken song. Her name may even mean “bitter.” But she refuses to be that girl anymore. She is no longer defined by fear or sorrow.

So what kind of girl is she?

A simple girl.
A grateful girl.
A blessed girl.

She believes in second chances and new beginnings.

She is stronger today because of all she has endured. Her scars remind her that she is a survivor. She finds beauty in living life one day at a time. She surrounds herself with those who encourage and genuinely care. She clothes herself in a garment of praise, standing in awe of the wonders of God’s grace.

When she looks in the mirror, what does she see?

She sees a girl turned woman.

And if wrinkles must be written upon her brow, she refuses to let them be written upon her heart.

She is more than a conqueror.

She sees strength. Learned lessons. Pride in herself.

Sad? Not anymore.
Alone? Never.
Afraid? She refuses.

A wallflower?

Not that girl anymore.

If you’ve ever felt broken, overlooked, or unsure of who you’re becoming, know this: you are not alone. Your story isn’t over yet. Mine wasn’t.

You can read the full story in Running In Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace