From across the room her pink lips parted into a gentle smile, beaconing me to walk towards her and engage in conversation. I couldn’t resist. From my distant perspective she seemed quite lovely, but as I approached her and upon further inspection, her eyes began to morph dark and spiteful. I should have known…this always happened.
“What’s so great about you?” she whispered. Her words caught me by surprise and shattered the calm morning ambience, creating a thick realm of uneasiness in the room. “You know you’re not good enough, you know you’re not as beautiful as her, you know he could probably do better…and sometimes? Well, I’m not even sure why you try, Honey. You’re nearly pathetic, you poor, poor thing.” She shook her head disapprovingly while she eyed me up and down with her onyx gaze.
I wanted to whimper and hide, like a wounded dog after an unwarranted attack. But, Instead I stood numb to her words as frozen rebuttals swirled around the caverns of my brain. After all, I suppose I was used to it. This wasn’t the first time I was the subject of her malevolent words; she was my oldest friend, and a constant companion. Although it was sickening to admit, despite the abuse and negativity she brought into my life, I couldn’t rid her completely...I felt like I needed her. Or perhaps more fittingly, that I deserved her.
On the darker days, I often wondered if she was right. I was never going to be a beauty queen. My skin was rough from years of battling a visible war that raged on my face. A war that left pockets of embarrassment and pain scattered along my cheeks. Although the war eventually subsided, they served as constant reminders of the years spent hiding behind a mask of makeup, afraid to show my true complexion to the world. I sighed morosely as bitter memories began to flood my mind. There were so many missed pool parties, school dances and college dates, all due to a fear of being noticed.
I shook my head sadly as I ran a cool hand across my cratered cheek. “Maybe someday,” I mumbled to myself. Someday I wouldn’t be afraid to be noticed, I wouldn’t be afraid to catch someone’s eye. At 28 years old, I couldn’t believe I still cowered in fear of being looked at lovingly. I shuddered in fright at the thought of mere disapproval being disguised as shallow pleasantly. You see, I always doubted the validity of a longing glance and I often wondered if deep down, my complexion bothered them as much as it bothered me. And if it did, I deduced that they surely would never be able to find someone of my caliber truly worthy of such pleasurable exchanges. To me, their adoration was a con, it was a lie, it was not to be trusted, and my inability to accept it despite constant reassurance of its’ trustworthiness? Horrifically sad.
“You should lay off the carbs.” She snickered as I turned to walk away from her. “You know your metabolism isn’t what it used to be, and you know your pale skin leaves no room for forgiveness when it comes to these sorts of things.” I had just about had enough, and was about to tell her so, when she delivered her final blow: “You’re better off alone, nobody would ever want to willingly marry a barren woman.” I couldn’t process anything from that statement, except for the horrific pain associated. My eyes began to fill with tears, and my throat clasped shut, prisoning horrified words mid-sentence. “We don’t know that that’s true.” I mouthed, tasting the salty water that now freely dribbled onto my lips.
Her expression softened a smidge. “Oh sweet thing, you know the percentage. You heard the doctor. It’s about as probable as a lizard, giving birth to a cow.” She took a deep breath and continued. “Any good man would never willingly marry a woman who won’t be able to give him children. You are, by definition, a failure before you even begin.” My chest felt tight, and a warm humming sound surrounded my ears. Why was she saying these things? Why did she torture me so? She continued on with more painfully-laden words, but I couldn’t listen any longer. My capacity for agony and self-distain had been reached. She was right. No amount of inward beauty, selflessness, or makeup could ever cover up the fact that I was a dud. Completely incapable of doing what, I felt, I was created to do.
I looked up. A blemished, fat, and barren woman somberly stared back at me in the mirror. “Give up.” She snarled. “You’re not worth it, you’ll never be worth it.”
I closed my eyes and hung my head in shame. In that moment, I wanted to peel back the layers of my flesh that caged my soul and escape out the bathroom window, into the sky and into the warmth of the sunshine. I wanted to feel free. I didn’t want to be confined by what was given to me without my consent in the matter. I wanted to be completely un-defined by anything other than what resided in the burrows of my belly. For, deep down, although I sometimes questioned the fact, I knew that the beautiful interior of my being far surpassed the exteriors’ façade. But, I couldn’t escape the exterior. I wouldn’t ever be able to. I was stuck with me, I was stuck with the girl in the mirror.
My eyes shifted back towards her. I was expecting her cold stare to greet me again, but this time I didn’t see an enemy. This time as my eyes scanned the surface of the reflective glass, I noticed a shallow shell of a woman. A woman defeated by the tormenting worldly winds and storms. A woman so utterly exhausted at the sheer fact that she would never be able to measure up to the standards of beauty and femininity defined by the confines of this earth. Yes, she was pitiful, but not because she was ugly. Her deplorable self-state was due to allowing herself to believe the lies in the mirror that told her that she was anything other than beautiful. She had become her worst enemy. She had become everything that she feared she was when she looked at her reflection.
“Not today.” I mumbled. She looked at me with a bleak expression and mumbled back in unison. “Not today.” We repeated. “I’m not believing the lies today…I’m not becoming the lies today. I'm not giving up.” And with that, I wiped my eyes free of tears, brushed a few strands of my brown hair off of my face, and turned away from my limited perspective to face a much more beautiful view:
life…and the people, and the opportunities defined within it.
-- A woman’s conversation with her reflection.
“What’s so great about you?” she whispered. Her words caught me by surprise and shattered the calm morning ambience, creating a thick realm of uneasiness in the room. “You know you’re not good enough, you know you’re not as beautiful as her, you know he could probably do better…and sometimes? Well, I’m not even sure why you try, Honey. You’re nearly pathetic, you poor, poor thing.” She shook her head disapprovingly while she eyed me up and down with her onyx gaze.
I wanted to whimper and hide, like a wounded dog after an unwarranted attack. But, Instead I stood numb to her words as frozen rebuttals swirled around the caverns of my brain. After all, I suppose I was used to it. This wasn’t the first time I was the subject of her malevolent words; she was my oldest friend, and a constant companion. Although it was sickening to admit, despite the abuse and negativity she brought into my life, I couldn’t rid her completely...I felt like I needed her. Or perhaps more fittingly, that I deserved her.
On the darker days, I often wondered if she was right. I was never going to be a beauty queen. My skin was rough from years of battling a visible war that raged on my face. A war that left pockets of embarrassment and pain scattered along my cheeks. Although the war eventually subsided, they served as constant reminders of the years spent hiding behind a mask of makeup, afraid to show my true complexion to the world. I sighed morosely as bitter memories began to flood my mind. There were so many missed pool parties, school dances and college dates, all due to a fear of being noticed.
I shook my head sadly as I ran a cool hand across my cratered cheek. “Maybe someday,” I mumbled to myself. Someday I wouldn’t be afraid to be noticed, I wouldn’t be afraid to catch someone’s eye. At 28 years old, I couldn’t believe I still cowered in fear of being looked at lovingly. I shuddered in fright at the thought of mere disapproval being disguised as shallow pleasantly. You see, I always doubted the validity of a longing glance and I often wondered if deep down, my complexion bothered them as much as it bothered me. And if it did, I deduced that they surely would never be able to find someone of my caliber truly worthy of such pleasurable exchanges. To me, their adoration was a con, it was a lie, it was not to be trusted, and my inability to accept it despite constant reassurance of its’ trustworthiness? Horrifically sad.
“You should lay off the carbs.” She snickered as I turned to walk away from her. “You know your metabolism isn’t what it used to be, and you know your pale skin leaves no room for forgiveness when it comes to these sorts of things.” I had just about had enough, and was about to tell her so, when she delivered her final blow: “You’re better off alone, nobody would ever want to willingly marry a barren woman.” I couldn’t process anything from that statement, except for the horrific pain associated. My eyes began to fill with tears, and my throat clasped shut, prisoning horrified words mid-sentence. “We don’t know that that’s true.” I mouthed, tasting the salty water that now freely dribbled onto my lips.
Her expression softened a smidge. “Oh sweet thing, you know the percentage. You heard the doctor. It’s about as probable as a lizard, giving birth to a cow.” She took a deep breath and continued. “Any good man would never willingly marry a woman who won’t be able to give him children. You are, by definition, a failure before you even begin.” My chest felt tight, and a warm humming sound surrounded my ears. Why was she saying these things? Why did she torture me so? She continued on with more painfully-laden words, but I couldn’t listen any longer. My capacity for agony and self-distain had been reached. She was right. No amount of inward beauty, selflessness, or makeup could ever cover up the fact that I was a dud. Completely incapable of doing what, I felt, I was created to do.
I looked up. A blemished, fat, and barren woman somberly stared back at me in the mirror. “Give up.” She snarled. “You’re not worth it, you’ll never be worth it.”
I closed my eyes and hung my head in shame. In that moment, I wanted to peel back the layers of my flesh that caged my soul and escape out the bathroom window, into the sky and into the warmth of the sunshine. I wanted to feel free. I didn’t want to be confined by what was given to me without my consent in the matter. I wanted to be completely un-defined by anything other than what resided in the burrows of my belly. For, deep down, although I sometimes questioned the fact, I knew that the beautiful interior of my being far surpassed the exteriors’ façade. But, I couldn’t escape the exterior. I wouldn’t ever be able to. I was stuck with me, I was stuck with the girl in the mirror.
My eyes shifted back towards her. I was expecting her cold stare to greet me again, but this time I didn’t see an enemy. This time as my eyes scanned the surface of the reflective glass, I noticed a shallow shell of a woman. A woman defeated by the tormenting worldly winds and storms. A woman so utterly exhausted at the sheer fact that she would never be able to measure up to the standards of beauty and femininity defined by the confines of this earth. Yes, she was pitiful, but not because she was ugly. Her deplorable self-state was due to allowing herself to believe the lies in the mirror that told her that she was anything other than beautiful. She had become her worst enemy. She had become everything that she feared she was when she looked at her reflection.
“Not today.” I mumbled. She looked at me with a bleak expression and mumbled back in unison. “Not today.” We repeated. “I’m not believing the lies today…I’m not becoming the lies today. I'm not giving up.” And with that, I wiped my eyes free of tears, brushed a few strands of my brown hair off of my face, and turned away from my limited perspective to face a much more beautiful view:
life…and the people, and the opportunities defined within it.
-- A woman’s conversation with her reflection.
