By Omolola Olakunri

The Quiet Mirror.
It sees us fully— The shifting seasons.
The masks, the vulnerabilities.
The tears and the laughter.

It does not speak.
It does not judge.
But it reveals the truth with clarity.
It reflects what is placed before it— No need for eloquent speech,
No requirement for affirming friendship
or enduring the cruel sting of envy.
It simply exists. Constant. 24/7.
Doing the sacred work of reflection.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?

But what does fairest truly mean?
The most beautiful—physically?
A head-turning presence that shifts the energy in a room?

Yet true beauty is multi-faceted.
It includes the radiance that shines from within,
a glow no makeup can imitate,
a strength of character visible in a confident face,
a strong jawline, earnest eyes.

The mirror has witnessed epic inner battles— Reflections wrestling with the ideal self they want to present to the world.
“I just want to be beautiful,” they whisper.
They spend hours daily enhancing and sculpting,
crafting a face the world will envy.
It’s a ticket. A brand. A livelihood.
They refuse to be seen without makeup— and the mirror, without judgment, reflects their desire.

Yet the mirror also reflects the beauty of the mind— Uncannily.
It reveals joy bubbling from within,
a peace with oneself,
laughter lines, contentment,and
features too profound for words.
They manifest as presence—an X-factor— a comforting aura.
Not threatening, but unforgettable.
Remembered for warmth, for genuineness,
for the ability to laugh at oneself, to not take life too seriously.
So what does your mirror say to you?
Look. Stare deeply.
What do you truly see?

I looked in my mirror this morning.
And I saw me— The whole of me.

A woman who has embraced the version of herself
that life has revealed to her.

I saw streaks of grey— a crown of wisdom.
Symbols of endurance, of maturing like fine wine.
How even grey can be a fashion statement, how Gen Zs identify with it.
How they come to drink from the well of my experience—
not because I am perfect,
but because they can learn from my journey,
avoid my mistakes, and break the cycle.

I saw my lips—closed, smiling.
A new default.
Speaking less, listening more.
Seasoning words with grace.
Carrying petitions into the war room of prayer,
waging quiet battle for the soul of my family.
The same lips that offer affirmation and counsel,
never tearing down, only building up.

I saw eyes of empathy—
kind, weathered, yet still believing in humanity.
Eyes that see beyond faltering words,
that detect hidden fear and pain.
Eyes that have sparkled with joy at weddings,
beheld newborns with awe,
and wept deeply at every goodbye.
Eyes that still ask questions,

but rest in the rhythm of life,
trusting that the Creator remains in control.

I looked at my hands—and smiled.
Strong. Capable. Weathered.
Hands that have cooked every kind of meal—
for celebrations, surprises, birthdays, thanksgiving.
They’ve filled my home with fragrance,
drawing guests in their hundreds.
They’ve wiped runny noses, bandaged scraped knees.
Every line, every scar, a memory.

I see the soft rounding of my face,
the middle-age spread no gym routine can erase.
But it tells its own story—
of pregnancies carried full-term,
of backs bent to rock crying toddlers
even as the world outside demanded attention.

My mirror shows me the totality of my being and spirit.
I wouldn’t change it.
No charades. No lies.
Just the unadorned truth.

My reflection.
A gladiator.
Happy. Fulfilled.

It whispers Maya Angelou’s words:

“Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size.
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I am a woman—
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman.
That’s me.”

I am that woman.
Not easily forgotten.
Remembered for how I make others feel—
how the day seems brighter
just because I am in it.
How I am uniquely and specially me.
And that no other version exists.

That’s what my mirror tells me.
And I am content.

*Olakunrin wrote from Abuja

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