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Maiara Musings

"Problems can not be solved by the level of awareness that created them" Albert Einstein

Hi everyone,

I hope that you had more TIME this passing week to do the things that matter. Lately I have been thinking about the importance of self-image, how we see ourselves. The question becomes more so important when we are faced with the new reality after the abusive relationship and years of constant criticism from the narcissistic partner, when we are finally daring to contemplate entering the world of dating and some other normal social activities. I am quite certain that I am not alone on-line with those whose self-image after such an unhealthy relationship has become very distorted. No matter how much I try to stare at that mirror and believe that I look fine it is just the same, tired and rather ugly me staring back. At the end of it the old saying that the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder is so true. How can the person staring at you back from the mirror look beautiful if she is unhappy, ashamed, regretful, scared and lonely inside. We all know people who to our eyes look so beautiful because we love them and we think that they are perfect just the way they are, and that has nothing to do with their actual looks. So in order for us to see beautiful person on that mirror it will require self-love. I have come kind of long way from last summer when I did write this particular essay “Mirror, Mirror on the wall….” but there are still many flaws in me when I look at myself in that mirror and wonder if any man could really truly love me. The improvement being in that I do not feel desperation any more because I have committed myself to heal emotionally as well as physically from my past and live happily ever after. I hope that this essay will make you think about internal beauty and to search for that wonderful lost soul that is certainly hiding deep inside each one of us so that when you next time look in to that dreaded mirror you will see a happy, balanced and beautiful human being.

Image

Picture taken by KKMaiaraM

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall – an essay written by KKMaiaraM

Is this essay going to be a fairy-tale of beautiful adventurer, you may wonder, how else would the title be about the mirror. Only the main character from the great story would be pictured in front of the mirror brushing her long, shiny hair and taking for granted the beauty which, to nobody’s surprise, is not only external but also internal. These lovely women are always pictured graceful, wise, kind and well liked. They smile when they see their reflection in a mirror because they have the self-confidence to conquer the world if they so wish.

Me too, I want to be a brave and kind person with great beauty and have the world at my feet. With excitement I approach the dreaded mirror: Today is going to be different, I will see my reflection and then I know. I want to know that I am not who I have become and that there is still a little girl inside me hiding, a girl long forgotten, who is desperately fighting for her existence. I am standing in front of my nondescript mirror by now; my head is bent down and I am very carefully trying to count all the small aqua green tiles on my bathroom floor, after that I just might have to kneel down and scrub the grout between the tiles with my old toothbrush and then…OK, OK, avoidance techniques big time. Do I really want to look into that mirror? Yes…and…No. Yes, because I am hoping to see something good and no, because I am terrified of reality of me. Looking at one’s own reflection is daunting task at best of times, but for an emotionally abused woman it can be more like trying to watch Alfred Hitchcock’s horror movie Birds: I have seen the beginning of that movie several times but I have yet to find the courage to see all of it because I am so frightened of the ending.

Starting from the top, my eye catches the grey roots of brown mousey hair followed by too wide forehead, and as the eyes drop even further down in a middle  they almost get stuck with the potato nose before finding the angry-looking down turned ordinary mouth and the scar, newest addition to my flaws. With heavy sigh I take one more look at myself and can’t fail to notice how borderline ugly I am with wrinkles, pale uneven skin and the eyes, which are so sad and tired. What did I expect? At least I should be thankful for small mercies of life: My mirror is not full length. I take a deep breath and momentarily close my eyes trying to decide if I dare to continue all the way to the end. Yes, I will take the journey to the unknown and open my eyes for further scrutiny.

Eyes, they say, are the gateway to the soul. So I stare deeply into so familiar faded blue-gray eyes of mine, mentally trying to squeeze myself through the black pupils to see if the statement is true. I have to find my soul, how would I otherwise be able to see myself genuinely and rescue the lost little girl from the horrors of obscurity. Time freezes and I find myself completely alone in total darkness. I can feel the imminent death of my soul: … bad person, talking unkindly of others, yelling at kids, failure as a mother, angry, never smiling, blaming, gossiping, foolish human being, greedy, black soul, negative, almost lying, not really good at anything, not smart enough, not intellectually equal, no man will ever love me, too ugly, too weird, talking too much, what’s wrong with me … STOP!!!! I scream and the eerie silence in my brain follows the onslaught of negativity.

Then it hits me, the old proverb I have hanging on my wall:

 

Just when the

caterpillar

thought the

world was over

it became

a butterfly

That’s it, maybe I am the caterpillar. I am starting to look more carefully around. It seems that the black is not as black as I first thought and that there is a shimmer of light ever so faintly guiding me forward deeper into my soul. Now I really have no choice but to continue my quest for the lost little girl, for if there is light she is still waiting to be rescued. As I descend further down to the unknown, forgotten territory, pieces of unconscious puzzle start flashing along the way: … can’t be too stupid with the education I have, define smart, isn’t the beauty in the eye of the beholder, kids must love me sometimes, can’t be entirely failing in parenting, some men do turn their heads to look at me, I have few friends, I speak nicely sometimes, I make a joke once and awhile and some people even get it, I love being silent, there must be some gifts I possess, intelligence comes in many disguises, lately I have been smiling again …… This is it then, I have reached the little girl: She is right there, within the grasp of my mind. The big dilemma I am facing now is what to do with her.

If I refuse to rescue her and go back to my miserable, unhappy, tear drenched life, I know with certainty that I will become lonely, bitter, angry and unsatisfied human being: My life will be full of regrets. If, on the other hand I accept her into my life as she is, I will end up being the uncertain, pimple faced, radical teenager with no boyfriend and a bucket full of issues. No thank you, being a teenager once in this lifetime is more than enough. So I am left with the third option, which is the one with most work. I have to slowly merge with her and start the long and painful process of transformation. I am not who I used to be but I am also not who I am now. I am someone different and only time will tell what kind of a woman I truly am. When the metamorphosis is complete I am hoping to emerge from my cocoon as one strong, beautiful, multicolored butterfly who gently but fearlessly flies to her new life and freedom.

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