I didn't know what she meant.
"You know, " she said, "all of those mirrors! Doesn't it drive you crazy?"
She's right; there are a lot of mirrors. There's a huge one behind the vanity, double mirrored closed doors on the opposite wall, and another double closet on the other side of the room.
I've lived here for 11 years, and I can honestly say that I don't see the mirrors, and I sure don't see my reflection in those mirrors!
We're talking about a person who walks in the room and immediately notices if a chair is out of place, or opens a cabinet and sees that a spice jar was put back wrong, so the spices are no longer alphabetized! When I walk in a room, I hone in on potential dangers right away, something heavy that could fall on a small child, or something that could be sharp and scratch a child.
I don't intentionally do any of this; it's just the way my mind works!
(And don't think that my house is immaculate; I live with five people who would step over an overturned chair, rather than think to stop and pick it up!)
My point is that, in spite of being a detail-oriented person, I don't even see my mirrors. It's like I want to pretend that I don't exist. I don't like what I see, so I choose not to see it.
I've done the exercises where I looked in the mirror and told myself that I loved myself exactly the way I was. I didn't believe it for a minute, but I read that if I said it enough, eventually I would come to believe it.
That never happened. Not that it wouldn't have, but I always quit before it did.
So, since I never saw myself in mirrors, I was always shocked when I saw a picture of myself. My immediate reaction was to look away, or to quickly delete the picture.
When I would see one of those rare pictures, especially when I'd been dieting and feeling better, I would think that I was too horrible to be seen in public, that I was an embarrassment to my family, and that I should just give up dieting and give up on myself.
The sad thing was that I've felt that way no matter what my weight!
I remember going to a doctor one time, and while examining me, he called me Denise Obese. Don't even get me started on what kind of doctor says that to a patient, but at the time, I weighed 124 pounds! I was young and impressionable, and I left feeling so defeated. From that day on, I refused to eat anything for two days prior to a doctor's appointment, and ended up choosing a doctor solely on the fact that he didn't make me weigh in at appointments!
I also remember, after starving myself, weighing around 110 pounds, and my boyfriend (at the time) telling me that I was still fat and needed to lose some more weight. That was on Easter, and my main memory of that day was having to get a pillow to sit on during Easter dinner because I was so bony that it hurt to sit down.
I'm finally ready to learn to accept and love myself. I no longer look to others for approval. I realize that I will never be at peace with food if I don't address the emotional aspects of my relationship with food. I know that these changes take time, but it's exciting to feel them taking place. My goal for today is to look in that mirror and smile, and just sit with that for awhile and see how it feels.
I know I'm on the right path.
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