Content Warning: This article contains discussion of eating disorders and body image.
It is late (maybe not that late, but what felt like midnight to a three-year-old). In the soft glow from my night light, I sit in the center of my room in my striped pajama set with Marmalade, a Build-a-Bear tabby cat, and Thomas, a beat-up duct-taped baby doll that I begged my uncle to buy me at a yard sale. The three of us enjoy a nighttime tea party full of whispers as I outwit my parent-enforced bedtime. Mounted between the two windows of my perfectly square room sits a giant built-in mirror that frames the space perfectly. This mirror watches as we pretended to share sandwiches with the Queen of England by candle light.
As a child who refused to sleep, this mirror accompanied me into the darkness of the night. Whether I was playing with my dolls or staring at my reflection, it kept me company. Since I moved to Saint Louis, Missouri at age three, my entire childhood was reflected in this mirror. As the centerpiece of my room, we developed a deep relationship and through its image, I emerged into the person I am today.
With a large mirror and a walk-in closet bigger than the kitchen in our New York City apartment, my room was a paradise for a little girl. My mom would take me to thrift stores where I would pick out colorful tutus and bedazzled dresses. I filled my closet with costumes and when I had added a new treasure to my collection, I begged my parents to invite my best childhood friend, Willa, over for a playdate. Together, we would dress in ridiculous ensembles and spend hours playing pretend. The Princess Game, Hannah Montana, and Farm Girls were some of our regular productions. Our preschool lives and outsized imaginations inspired the plots of our games and most of the time we would be on completely different storylines, only occasionally interacting with the other to give an update of what our character was up to. Whether we were playing together or alone, the mirror was our audience. When Willa’s parents would come to pick her up, my closet would be up to our knees in costumes. But the play did not end there; I would continue for hours by myself wrapping up the plots from our earlier games or working on a new one-girl show. Even when I was by myself, I never felt alone. My mirror provided me with the comfort and freedom to explore my creativity. I was completely vulnerable in front of it which created an intimacy between us. It held all of my deepest darkest secrets. In its reflection, I realized that I was always going to be my best friend and because of this, I learned how to love myself as a child.
Unfortunately, the freedom and confidence generated by that mirror did not follow me into my adolescence. Being unable to escape your reflection is extremely dangerous for someone who is struggling with mental health issues. When I entered my freshman year of high school, I was not in a good place. Willa had moved away. I had started a new school and just went through a major fallout with best friends. That year I felt completely alone. The mirror that once applauded my imaginary games now mocked me, constantly reminding me that I was a fourteen-year-old girl sitting alone in her room on a Saturday night. The game of pretend had ended, and taking with it, the sparkle I used to see in myself. All that remained was a reflection of self-pity and hate.
With too much alone time and too big of a mirror, I began to obsess over what I could control about my reflection, my weight. Starting in January of 2015 I stopped letting myself find any joy in what I put in my body and restricted myself to small portions of select foods. Each day I would wake up, roll out of bed, and stare at myself. My thighs were too big and my stomach was not flat. I repeated these insults to myself over the course of a year while my reflection shrunk. By January of 2016, there was barely anyone to look in my mirror at. The young girl who fearlessly danced in front of the mirror in a sequined leotard was a stranger to this version of me whose only source of self-worth came from the way that society perceived her. I had completely lost the love I had for myself.
When one looks in a mirror, you see yourself as the rest of the world sees you. In a reality full of Instagram models and corrective surgeries, being able to closely look at your reflection is a dangerous tool for comparison. Admittedly, my mirror cannot be blamed for my issue. It merely showed me a reflection of my own doing. With a lot of help, I overcame my eating disorder. I am incredibly grateful to have loving parents who helped me realize that I was hurting myself, and to a new group of friends who became my support system. Yet what was the most helpful in my recovery was my therapist. Up until this point in my life, the only reflection I experienced was in my mirror. Speaking with someone allowed me to reflect internally and not on my image. While I still have not regained the confidence I once had, I am on a long journey of learning how to love myself again.
Despite this conflict between myself and my reflection, my mirror saw happier days. It watched me get dressed up for high school parties, learn how to put on makeup, and practice cheerleading chants. I observed my first relationship, an experience so different from the one I fantasized about in my dress-up games, in its reflection. I got ready for homecoming, prom, and then suddenly I stared at myself in my graduation gown. Soon it was time to try on every piece of clothing that I owned and decide what to bring to college. And before I knew it I was sitting in my bed looking at myself as I binged Netflix and did at-home Pilates during quarantine.
Just like that, I watched myself go through each stage of life. Through the lens of my mirror, my childhood felt like a movie. Now as certain events fade out of my memories, I wish more than anything that my mirror actually recorded all of it. This mirror knows me better than anyone-it was the sole witness to so many affairs. To this day, it is still the only thing where I feel comfortable in being completely vulnerable and therefore, the only thing I have ever truly trusted.
Unfortunately, this mirror is no longer a part of my life. Last year, my parents decided to close the Saint Louis chapter of our lives and head back to New York City to start a new one. While I knew that I would miss my friends and my home, I was prepared for this move. Throughout the process, I waited for the emotions of leaving my childhood behind to hit me like a truck, but they never really did. Yet, when I felt inspired to write this piece I was simultaneously hit with an overwhelming mixture of emotions. I can think about everything else in that house without any reaction but the thought of never being able to see myself in this mirror again brings tears to my eyes. After moving out and into my new apartment in DC, I tried to mimic the effect by placing a mirror in the center of my room directly across from my bed just like my old one. But it is not the same. No one will ever know me as well as that mirror did. And my existence without being able to come back to its reflection is something that I have yet to come to terms with.