When I was young, the mirror was a comfort to me. My reflection gave me certainty; it told me I was likable and competent.
I was touring the architecture building at my future college. I widened my eyes at the vast, bustling space as I walked through the glass entry doors. It was cavernous and austere. Students and faculty crisscrossed the concrete floors and interior balconies.
A girl with an intricate model and sure steps must be on her way to a successful presentation. A gray-haired man scrutinizing me through black spectacles judged my academic potential insufficient. And the group of attractive guys at the café? I was certain they wouldn’t accept me.
There were so many people who knew exactly where they were going. I stacked up their outsides against my insides with blazing speed and anticipated the stress of pleasing them and securing their favor. I felt more uncertain with each face I encountered.
I needed to steady myself. I scanned the atrium for the men’s room. Beyond the stair to the left.
I washed my clean hands as I studied my reflection. Yes, I was skinny, but I was handsome. What wasn’t there to like? I looked the part of an architecture student. I could do this. I turned off the water and took a few moments to perfect my hair before stepping out.
I re-entered the din and my confidence dipped. I continued to my destination as my brain assured me I could return to the mirror any time.
Speak Life
In case you didn’t catch it, I wasn’t running my life. I was listening to all the stories that entered my consciousness and letting them direct my focus. I wanted to escape the uncomfortable emotions they fostered, so I sought out my reflection where my automatic thoughts would tell me what I wanted to hear.
I didn’t know how to stand up to automatic thoughts. I tried telling myself I had great worth and value even if I didn’t succeed or wasn’t handsome, but it didn’t feel true. Taking direction from my subconscious took less energy than fighting to believe a truth that felt like a lie.
Over time, I’ve learned to appreciate the messages my mind and emotions offer. They often intend to keep me from harm. I thank them for their input but hold them up to the truth of God’s word. I can count on them coming up short.
In the scenario I described, my subconscious was doing its best to set me up for success by highlighting who I needed to be in order to be accepted and safe. But acceptance and safety are low-bar goals. I have higher ones now. By talking to myself rather than listening to myself, I’ve taught my subconscious that betting on authenticity and taking risks towards my goals builds a more sure footing.
It was hard when I started the habit of taking every thought captive, but the payoff has been worth it. My identity in Christ and His promises that myself and others speak over me feel more true. And when they don’t, I welcome the opportunity to practice faith. I have more energy and focus. I am present with others and more attuned to how I can serve them. Life is fun. Those results create a feedback loop that makes the truth feel more true each time I speak it.
Now when I walk into a new environment, bustling with energy, I see possibility. I can sluff off constricting beliefs that may arise. I get to know others and be known! I can stretch my capabilities and meet the next version of me who awaits on the other side of courageous action.
This process is more than positive thinking—it’s about anchoring your identity in enduring truths. Speaking truth over yourself rewires your brain to see opportunity and tunes it to God’s voice. It exposes lies and builds a solid foundation to stand firm, regardless of external circumstances.
The next time you are presented with a thought that doesn’t seem to align with your identity or purpose, take time to question it. Seek out people who can affirm what’s true. Pray. Speak the truth over yourself, notice how you feel, and take action. Look forward to what happens next.