I looked in the mirror when my organization collapsed.
I saw the ties it had to my identity. I understood the escape it had always been in painful moments—one day, my success would save me from their dismissal and my lack of importance.
It was a foolproof plan. If I “made it,” I would be worthy of them.
Work yourself to the bone and earn a name for yourself, only then will you be safe, seen, and loved.
I looked in the mirror when shame swallowed me whole.
I was humiliated by my inability to make my own dream come true, and that fragile ego construct collapsed under the weight of exposure. I tore down the walls around my heart to dream out loud, but my best wasn’t enough. How dare you risk us like that, you damned fool!
Am I a failure, or did I just fail? Why did I think it was safe? Why would I risk this humiliation? I knew better.
No one believes in you because they shouldn’t. You’ve been exposed, you stupid, open girl. This is what you get. You deserve to wither in anonymity.
I looked in the mirror when betrayal arrived.
I trusted people to love me the way I loved them, giving all that I could and a little bit more. When I fell out of grace, my unworthiness kept me up at night.
If trust is fragile, who else do I love that will leave? Is every safe relationship actually a vulnerability?
Who are you if you’re not worth the people you love and respect so deeply? Stop trusting and loving with such obvious, off-putting devotion.
I looked in the mirror to remember who I was.
From the beginning, I found belonging in the morning sun—waking up, sneaking outside, and feeling overcome by the wonder of the world. I was pleased to be given the opportunity to be alive.
The soul participates in the gift and enjoys what is, with no need to earn or prove, knowing it’s worthy of all that goodness.
But you cannot go on this way forever. You must build walls of protection and grow fangs of defense to keep the offenders out…or learn the hard way.
I looked in the mirror and named the defenses I learned.
I needed the love of others that I couldn’t have, and I hated myself for it. I saw that my openness and vulnerability exposed me to pain.
Guard, guard, guard that open heart that laughs and dreams and cries. You will be better off if you protect the most important parts, and make a name for yourself in the meantime.
For months I would rage because I betrayed a truth I knew from such a young age and had the audacity to call it brave.
And then one day, out of nowhere, it changed.
I looked in the mirror and opened my eyes.
I looked up through the water that drowned me, the shame that pinned me to the ocean floor, and I asked the One who has been with me from the beginning:
Which part is truer?
The part that tried things and made friends, participated and enjoyed?
Or the part berating me for the pain I should’ve done better to avoid?
Is the part of me that hates and rages the same that grieves and hides?
Which one is true, and which has to die?
I looked in the mirror and saw the light.
My joy and disbelief that I get to do any of this never left. Shame speaks louder, but the soul knows to ask what’s true.
If I am always the problem, am I the solution too? And if I’m the one who questions and answers, then who are you?
Are you the One holding it all together, the space between every breath? Or, naive girl, are you making meaning out of nothing again?
I looked in the mirror and understood.
There are two voices, a push and a pull. Shame and Soul, the person we learned to be and the person we are. Suffering brings both to the surface.
They can coexist, but only one is true. One is a branch, one is the root.
Who will you listen to?