Each morning I wake up and take those few first steps of the day into my bathroom. I sweep my hair up off of my neck. Glancing in the mirror, I fumble around at the sink with the hot and cold water. Trying to set the temperature somewhere in between scolding hot and freezing cold. I bend down slowly so my face gets close to the running water. I cup my hands together and let the water slap me across the face. As I wash off the night before, I try to control my attitude or outlook at the beginning of each day. Start fresh, I tell myself. It is a new day. Yesterday is now somewhere down the drain with the rest of the water from the faucet.
It’s still early in the morning now. So, as I look at my reflection my edges are still fuzzy. I pop my contacts in, left eye first, and then the right. My world is now in complete focus. If I am seeing 20/20 then why is it that I feel so lost?
Mirror Mirror…What do you see? Do you see what I show you, or do you see through me? Can you see the pain behind my eyes, or just the smile that I show to the world? As I brush on my eyeshadow and eyeliner for the day, I attempt to layer on a piece of armor. Make-up to protect that little girl reflected back at me, that Mirror Mirror… only you can see. Mirror Mirror…who do you see? Who do I see? Who do I want to be?
As I head to my closet to pick out an outfit I feel like an imposter. I put on some nice dress pants, and business casual top. I dress the part because I fear if I don’t, that little girl from my past will reemerge. As I put on this additional armor, I feel myself trying to outrun my past. All the hospital stays, clinic visits, blood draws, painful procedures. Wanting to step out of this patient role for a little while and try out my legs with the big boys, so to speak. Going toe to toe, feeling like I have something to prove. I step into this healthy world ever so briefly. I so desperately want to make up for lost time.
This September, it will be eight years since my diagnosis. Eight years of fighting to live. Eight years of holding on. Speaking even if my voice shakes. I find myself pushing back that voice that says “you can’t” or “you don’t belong here” or “you are not enough.” I push onward trying to grasp a little bit of control.
Each morning, I slow down in front of my mirror in a world that has us programmed. Programmed to move faster, go harder, push faster. I let the water slowly run down my face and wash off my armor for the day. Taking the conscious time to be with myself and who I am in this moment. The mirror reflects back to me, sometimes things I wish I could forget.
But we cannot simply avoid the mirrors within us. As a patient, to start accepting all parts within us can be very painful as well as a beautiful thing. The little broken pieces and the whole pieces make up who we are. Try to be kind to that reflection staring back at you. It may not look like what you thought. Give yourself the time to heal from loss, to break, to scream, to fall down. You are not alone. I am right there on the floor trying to pick up those broken pieces too. So, rest tonight. You have done far more than others can see from the outside. Mirror Mirror… What do you see?