What happens when the mask starts to slip and healing begins?
There was a time in my life when everything looked fine on the outside, but inside, I was quietly unraveling.
I had worked hard, checked all the boxes, smiled when I was supposed to, and even achieved things others would have called “success.” But the truth? I felt hollow. Lost. Like I was living someone else’s version of a good life while silently wondering, Is this all there is?
What people couldn’t see was the ache I carried—the longing for peace, for clarity, for something real. I was doing everything that was expected of me and showing up for everyone else… but I wasn’t showing up for myself. That disconnection created a kind of inner emptiness I didn’t have language for back then.
Looking back, I realize I had lost touch with the girl I used to be—the vibrant, fearless, joyful version of me who once laughed loudly, spoke up boldly, and asked for what she wanted without shame. That little girl – the one whose essence is captured in the photo on the back of my book – hadn’t disappeared. She had just been buried. Beneath years of disappointment, heartbreak, pressure, and survival mode.
But she was still there. Waiting. Hoping I would notice her again.
That ache I felt? It was her—my inner child—calling out to be seen, to be heard, to be held with compassion instead of criticism. She didn’t need more discipline. She needed tenderness. And over time, I began to listen.
I stopped asking, What’s wrong with me? And started asking, What do I need?
That one question became an opening. Slowly, gently, I began to show up for myself the way I wished someone had shown up for me all those years ago.
I gave myself permission to feel again—to cry without apology, to laugh without explanation, to want without guilt. I learned how to honor my emotions instead of stuffing them down. I began reparenting the parts of me that had been left unseen, unprotected, or misunderstood for far too long.
And it wasn’t just emotional—it was deeply spiritual.
As the outer mask started to come off, my heart began to awaken. I stopped trying to control everything and instead surrendered. To God. To healing. To grace. Through prayer, quiet reflection, and intentional inner work, I began to understand that my worth was never about what I did. It was about who I was—and whose I was.
I began rebuilding my foundation. I learned to take responsibility for my thoughts, my focus, and my choices. I stopped chasing approval and started creating a life that felt true from the inside out.
And in that process, I found joy again. Not polished joy. Not performative joy. But deep, grounded, soul-level joy—the kind that feels like home. The kind I had as a little girl, before the world told me who I “was supposed to be.”
One of the most healing practices that helped me reconnect with her—my inner child—was something I now teach in my coaching work. It’s called The Mirror Exercise.
This exercise is a simple, but powerful daily practice. Each night before bed, I stand in front of a mirror, look into my own eyes, and speak out loud to myself. I call myself by name. I reflect on my day, acknowledging the choices I made, the discipline I practiced, the temptations I resisted. I honor my wins, both big and small. And when there’s disappointment, I don’t ignore it—I meet it with compassion and truth.
Then I say the words that used to feel impossible to say: Cheri, I love you.
I let the words land. I stay with my reflection just a few seconds longer, allowing that moment of connection to root deeper than performance or perfection. That space has become sacred. Not because it’s flawless, but because it’s real.
The Mirror Exercise has helped me rebuild trust in myself. It’s taught me how to nurture my inner child daily. It’s shown me that the love I craved from others was always meant to begin within.
You don’t have to try it all at once. You don’t even have to believe every word at first. But if your heart feels a gentle nudge… try standing with yourself tonight. Just you and the mirror. Look into your eyes. Say your name. Say what you’re proud of. And say, I love you. Even if your voice shakes.
Because that moment matters. That little one inside you is still listening.
So, if you’re in that place now – smiling on the outside but questioning everything inside – I see you.
You’re not broken.
You’re awakening.
You’re allowed to pause.
You’re allowed to feel.
You’re allowed to begin again.
And when you’re ready to rise, I’ll be here.