Mirror, Mirror On The Wall Who’s the Most Hurtful Of Them All?
Forget “It’s not you, it’s me”. The most soul crashing observations derive from the people who share the very fiber of your being
It caught me completely off guard, as I was frantically going about the day trying to get everything done. The kids, the job, the housework. The email sending, and the neatly folding, and the nighttime routine keeping, and the crumps picking, and the breakfast-lunch-dinner and snacks riddle solving.
It was one of those gut-wrenching moments that always sneak up on you, when you least expect it.
It was the gut-wrenching moment from the least expected culprit.
I have never been a fan of mirrors. Even tried to avoid them as an aspiring young ballerina. That dream crashed early, but luckily the posture remained. As did my father’s unnerving habit of ‘tenderly’ slapping my upper back, as a constant reminder for me not to slouch.
Up until my late twenties, people — well-intentioned and observant ones at least — used to comment on my good posture. It felt reassuring, the way only sweet childhood memories can.
Puberty hit in a rather clumsy but nonetheless blissful ‘I have my girls, I am alright’ way, tarnished by the odd instance of bullying that left unexpetadly deep scars, never to be mentioned since.
Coming of age but still late in the game of love, I was blessed to be seen by a couple of wonderful, even if unavoidably flawed boys II men. And saw myself through their eyes, as someone worthy to be sought out, loved, taken care of, admired even.
It felt nice and proper and well-timed.
Hearts did eventually break, but the lessons learned fortified the armor for what was yet to come.
I’ve learned to function on great speed because there is just no other way to go about it. I wish I could say I’m hyper fixating; that would be a luxury. But can one hyper fixate on a dozen things at the same time and on daily basis?
So, yes. I am no longer avoiding mirrors; I just don’t have the time to look at them anymore. Instead, I am always looking at the kids, the laptop, the phone, the kitchen sink / laundry basket or the grocery list.
I recently watched “Tiny Beautiful Things”. In the form of immensely talented Kathryn Hahn, the protagonist said at one point that, couples don’t look at each other anymore. We are always watching over the kids or watching TV, when we finally get that less than last hour of the day of ‘free time’ before we doze off, laying on the couch next to each other.
Not facing each other.
Under my chosen one’s eye, I remininise about him looking at me during our most intimate moments. Me and my angel. What blessed moments those were. Can I have them back, please? Back to a time when phrases like, ‘You have failed me as a wife, hadn’t yet been uttered?
…
Do you become invisible when no one is looking at you? It probably shouldn’t be the case, but I can tell you this much from experience:
Avoid looking at mirrors for too long and you forget what you actually look like. Enough years go by and you keep missing those tiny, beautiful transitional elements that make you an older version of you, and you’re just stuck feeling old.
Half-consciously and half not, I have been wrapping the proverbial cloak of invisibility around me for decades.
I prefer being left to my ways. Always have. Never a socialite, I’m just wired in a more reclusive way. Even becoming a work-from-home mother of twins did not stop me from keeping certain rituals that sustain my sanity albeit not constituting healthy physical habits.
Wrap that cloak too tight around you and it almost feels like an armor, clumping you up from the former free-pass holders to your heart.
You end up not just avoiding mirrors, but people and conversations as well. You hide behind being an overworked, never having enough time to chit chat mum, and you watch your friends drifting away. You flinch at the touch of your own mum and shy away from her ever-worried stare.
It’s not the touch nor the stare you crave for.
…
As a middle-aged woman, I have been at the receiving end of many a hurtful observation over the years. Who would’ve thought that avoiding reflections (literal or pensive) for so long, would not shield me from that one moment that would quite literally take my breath away.
Because you can’t avoid the mirror you’ve given birth to.
As I was getting her ready for bed the other day, my daughter, age 4 and a half, cast a piercing look at me. The kind of look that only kids of such tender age may master. You know the one I’m referring to; it comes with equal parts of a toddler’s unfiltered honesty and the gravitas of a 75-year-old retired astrophysicist.
And then, she blurted it out.
‘Mummy, why aren’t you happy?”
…
How do you explain to a 4-and-a-half-year-old girl… well, anything really?
How do you prepare her to face the harshness, the beauty, the agony, the bottomless pit of effort and the glorious moments of reward that life is ahead of them?
How do you even begin to answer that question?
#women #self #relationships #motherhood #visibility
#prompt
