I was addicted to validation—likes, shares, emojis. Each notification felt like a breath of fresh air, a whisper that I mattered. I curated my life for the feed: perfect angles, filtered smiles, captions crafted to impress. But behind the screen, I was crumbling. My joy was borrowed, my confidence rented from strangers who double-tapped my existence.
I chased approval like a mirage, always thirsty, never satisfied. If a post didn’t perform, I questioned my worth. Was I boring? Unlovable? Invisible? The silence was deafening. I became a prisoner to algorithms, shackled by comparison and envy. I lost sleep refreshing my feed, hoping someone—anyone—would validate me.
Then one night, in the quiet of my room, I broke. Tears streamed down my face as I stared at my reflection—not the one on my profile, but the real me. I whispered, “Who am I without the likes?” And in that moment, a gentle voice stirred within me. Not from my phone, but from my soul.
“You are mine,” it said.
I opened my Bible, desperate for truth. And there it was: I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Not by followers, but by the Creator. Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. My heart trembled. I wasn’t forgotten. I wasn’t overlooked. I was chosen.
I began to detox from digital approval. I posted less, prayed more. I stopped measuring my worth by metrics and started anchoring it in grace. The more I leaned into God’s love, the more I saw myself clearly—not as a brand, but as a beloved child.
Freedom didn’t come overnight. But each day, I reclaimed pieces of myself. I laughed without needing to record it. I cried without needing to explain it. I lived without needing to prove it.
Now, when I look at my reflection, I see someone redeemed. Not perfect, but perfectly loved. My identity isn’t in likes—it’s in Christ. And that truth sets me free every single day.
Thank you, Lord, for reminding me that I am enough. Not because of what I post, but because of who You say I am.
