Mirror Kissing Day: A Self-Love Ritual Spell for Survivors

🪞 Mirror Kissing Day
A self-love ritual spell for survivors

Louise Hay said —
"You have been criticizing yourself for years and it hasn't worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens."

Today — we approve.
Messy. Mascara-streaked. Mid-bloom.
Today — we meet the mirror like it holds a map.

This isn’t a performance — this is a pulse.
This is the day you lean in and kiss the one who kept you alive.

You don’t need to feel perfect to offer presence —
You don’t need to love every inch to place your hand on the glass.
You only need a moment. A breath. A body willing to show up.

The first time I kissed the mirror — I sobbed.
Mascara in my teeth. Lipstick on my temple. Ugly cry fully activated.
And something holy happened —
I stayed.

The mirror didn’t flinch —
It held me anyway.

Every kiss is a spell.
Every smudge is proof of life.
Every lingered glance rewrites the program.

This is Mirror Kissing Day.
And it counts.

What To Do

Stand in front of the mirror.
Place your hand on your reflection — like you’re checking if it’s real.
Wink. Smile. Flinch. Cry. Laugh. Stay.

When you’re ready — kiss the one who made it through.
No edits. No rush.
Just presence that doesn’t run.
Just a body. Just a breath.

Whisper this:

“I kiss the survivor. I bless the dreamer. I love me mid-mess.”

Whisper it again — louder.
Whisper it like a dare.
Whisper it like your future self is listening with both palms on the glass.

If a kiss feels too far today —
Try a wink. Try a nod.
Try a breath that doesn’t run away.
Or simply look. No flinch. No insult. Just witness.

Every gesture counts.
Every gaze is alive.
Every choice is a spell.

You don’t have to become perfect to be present —
You are already blooming through the cracks.
It’s a practice. A new muscle.

Louise Hay would say —
“Love is the great miracle cure. Loving ourselves works miracles in our lives.”

So — we love. We kiss. We stay. We speak.
Even with tears. Even with silence.
Even with a smeared lip print over yesterday’s pain.

Because the body remembers what you say with touch —
Because the mirror listens —
Because survival deserves ceremony.

Crow would say —
"Every kiss is a contract. Every gaze is a resurrection."

✨ Want to Amplify the Spell?

These aren’t rules — just invitations.
Pick what stirs. Leave what doesn’t.
The kiss is the altar — everything else is ambiance.

—

👗 Dress Like a Spell
Wrap yourself in something that feels good.
Silk. Pajamas. Denim jacket with mystery pockets. A bath towel doing its best.
The point isn’t fashion.
The point is yes.

—

🕯 Candle It
Light a candle and look at yourself in firelight.
Watch your face flicker.
Watch the shadows move around you like bodyguards.

Crow would say —
"The flame on your altar and the fire in your gut were never separate."

—

💄 Write It in Lipstick
Across the mirror — scrawl one sentence that makes your bones sit up straight.

• “Still here.”

• “Holy in this shape.”

• “Watch me rise.”

• “Mirror, mirror — I’m the damn spell.”

• “I love you, anyway.”

Then kiss it like you mean it.
Leave the smudge. That’s your sigil now.

—

📣 Say It Out Loud
Read your whisper-spell like you’re opening a portal.
Like the ghosts need to hear it.
Like the walls want to weep.

“I kiss the survivor. I bless the dreamer. I love the molter mid-mess.”

Scream it — or whisper it — or just think it, if you can’t quite say it yet.
That’s okay too. You’re here.

—

🌿 Anoint the Edges
Add scent.
Essential oil. Rosewater.
Or the lotion that makes you feel like a Victorian ghost who haunts luxury spas.
Let your skin know — this is different.
This is ceremony.

Crow would say —
"If your senses are awake, the spell has already started."

—

💬 What Does the Mirror Want to Say Back?
Ask it. Write it. Channel it.

Let the mirror name you.
Let it tell you what it's been waiting to say while you were busy surviving.

🗝 Final Touch

Try this — today.

Look into your own eyes — hold.
Name something true — one word is enough.
Touch the glass — like it touches back.
Kiss. Whisper. Leave a smudge.

That’s your new sigil.
That’s your new seal.
That’s the spell.

For the mirror magic to land — ask yourself:

• What would I say if I believed I was beautiful?

• Who in the mirror is still waiting to be loved?

• What if this is the only face I ever need permission from?

Stay with it.
One kiss at a time.

You don’t need a perfect relationship with the mirror.
You only need a living one.

Bless the wreckage.
Crown the scars.
Wink at the ache.

This body is yours.
This kiss is the key.
This spell is alive.

Let it land.

Crow would say —
"You didn’t survive to apologize. You survived to adore."