Reflections

Self image and the condition of the heart.

I always thought that when you looked in the mirror, you were seeing the undeniable reflection of your physical appearance.

A mirrored image of the ways in which the present light was falling on your face.
A reflection of exactly how you look in any given moment.

Until I started realising that perhaps it was less about how you looked.
And more about how you looked.

Because we are an adorable married couple, we have these sweet interactions where Jarrod says things like, ‘You look so beautiful today.’
And I respond with, ‘ARE YOU BLIND?!?’

He almost always says this on days where I look unmistakably revolting.
Or when I first get out of bed, looking like a haggard Bellatrix Lestrange.
What’s wrong with this guy? Spewing his filthy, if adorably charming lies on such a regular basis.

‘It’s not fair because you look exactly the same every single day,’ I say, trying in vain to get my hair to cooperate.
'I think you look the same every single day,’ he responds.

Huh?

I do NOT look the same every single day.
Some days I look lovely.
Some days its like my features have been chewed up and spat back on my head.
Some days my skin is glowing.
Some days my skin looks like I was the old lady in Dante’s Peak, but I tried to row the boat with my face.
What is wrong with this guy?

One day I started noticing though, that the days when I was disgusted in what I saw, were also the days when I was deflated.
Defeated.
Feeling helpless and unlikable.
In pain.
Sad or angry, or both.
The kind of frustrated that makes your eye twitch.

They were the days after a difficult conversation with Jarrod.
The days before my cycle started.
The days when I was berating myself over some silly thing I said or did.
The days I regretted the way I spoke to someone.
The days where everything went wrong.
The days I felt inadequate and ill-equipped.

The days I liked what I saw in the mirror, were the same days I felt empowered.
Accomplished.
When my social cup was full.
When I had had a chance to get my bubbliest extrovert on.
When I had experienced joy and satisfaction.
When I felt lovingly held and cherished by my community.

They were the days when my seedlings had finally popped through.
When I had made an accidentally delicious meal.
When I had laughed at a story the post office person told me.
When someone had laughed at one of my stories.
When I made a bid for connection with Jarrod, that he met with love and attentiveness.
When I caught a wayward ball in a feat of perfectly standard and characteristic sporting prowess that was no surprise to me whatsoever, but satisfying nonetheless…
When I had written something that felt moving.
When I had a brilliant idea.
When Halo had left one of her love heart notes at my bedroom door.

There is a correlation between the atmosphere of my inner world, and the way I see my outer self. As though my lens is somehow changing.

It in’t how I look.
But the lens through which I am looking.

What I’ve been seeing isn’t a reflection of my physical appearance.
But a reflection of my inner landscape.
A reflection of how I felt about myself. How I felt in my body.
A mirrored image of the condition of my heart.

I’m not sure this piece has an uplifting ending.
Just a realisation that offers a bit more perspective.
An understanding of the nature of reflections.
Of interpretations. Of subjectivity.

Gently, gently, gently…

x
Lysette