I didn’t notice the change right away. Exercise wasn’t a practice in my family. We went to church together. We ate together. We attended sporting events together. But outside of sports, physical activity was not a priority. It wasn’t woven into the fabric of our family principles and dynamics. Playing a sport? Absolutely. Moving your body just to move it? That wasn’t part of our culture. We showed love through shared meals, laughter, and presence, not through the rhythm of a heartbeat on a morning run or the stretch of muscles beneath sunlit skies.
It was against this backdrop that I stood in front of my mirror one Monday morning and paused longer than usual. I had just returned from a scholarship gala over the weekend, and a photo from the event lit up my phone screen. I glanced from my reflection to the photo, then back again. The woman in the picture had lashes, a full face of glam, and confidence that photographed well. But the woman staring back at me in the mirror—bare-faced, caramel brown skin, braids framing my cheeks—looked different. Not worse. Not better. Just… unfamiliar.
It was in that quiet, personal moment that something honest rose up inside me—I no longer recognized myself. Not physically, not emotionally, not in the way I carried my body or the energy behind my smile. It unsettled me. I didn’t want to admit it, but I could feel the weight—not just on my body but on my spirit. Somewhere along the way, I had stopped prioritizing myself.
