Mirror Mirror in my brain, can you tell me if I am sane.
Seems the mirror I keep referring to is that distorted one from my childhood’s not so fun funhouse. When you grow up in a household with unhappy people, you see yourself as you would in a scary funhouse mirror way. You know it’s you but you don’t recognize yourself. I mentioned this a three years ago in a post here.
As I’m apt to do, I was describing my mirror as broken and fractured to my talking doctor. And she stopped me for a moment and pointed out how I kept using that image. She offered that I need to redefine and describe my mirror as I would like to see it.
What I see in my mirror is what I’m choosing to see. The image of me resides in my mind and my hands. My worth is there by my definition. Gone by my definition. I control the levels of disappointment and achievement by my definitions and my rules and no one else’s. The past is yet another item I can choose to drag in or leave out when I am defining myself. If I choose the distorted thoughts, or to see myself the way I think others see me, that is still my choice to see me that way. It is certainly not written on a cave wall somewhere.
So my mirror is all of my making. Even if I’m bringing in images from mirrors past, that’s still me adding those images to my current reflection. And I think I may have to throw a black cloth over those past mirrors. I would really like to be friends with the reflection I see smiling back at me in my today mirror.
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