You wake up one morning to a world without mirrors. How does your life — from your everyday routines to your perception of yourself — change? The Daily post asked
What bliss! What freedom! The mirror is not my friend, not because it makes me feel insecure but because it doesn’t show enough of me. It’s a false friend with a skewed view that I can’t sneak up on.
When I look at myself in the mirror I cannot possibly see what other people see with their own eyes. The reflection is a half-truth, a partial view. A mirror can’t tell you who you are, it’s a moment with limited motion and emotion – unless you’re in one of those dance studio places.
I know, without doubt, that I can be happy in my own skin, buzzing with vitality and confidently going about my day only to be deflated, defeated by the image of my own reflection screaming labels at me – ‘old!’, ‘fat!’, ‘unfashionable!’, ‘knackered!’. Leaving me uncertain, leading to feelings of shame, regret and self-loathing.
Why though? Because what I see in that mirror, or that reflective shop window, is not representative of the lovely person that I feel I am when I’m free from what is deemed as ‘the reality’. But what is the reality? Is it the mirror? Or is it me? The answer is clear, yet I like most of us believe the other. That inanimate object.
In all truthfulness I think that less mirrors would be a positive thing. There seems to be one at every twist in turn. I guess it’s hard not to see your own reflection in a darkened bus window though. Reflections when it comes to it are hard to avoid.
Maybe it’s a moderation thing then. A quick, cursory glance as opposed to a lingering, critical study. Because the study serves no purpose – the more you look the less you see.
I concede, I like to have a mirror but I know that my reflection is not a definitive representation of me. It is a view. Something I must remember next time that I see myself and start to feel low and tell myself to stop looking, and know who I am instead.