Mirror Gaze

I had a late start that morning. My body nor my mind wanted to wake up. For fear of the alarm not ringing again, I found the will to unglue my eyes slowly and the strength to peel my upper back from the bed vertebrae by vertebrae. I wiggled my toes, moved my feet, and slid them off to my bedside. I stretched my legs until my feet found their slippers and with great slug, I pushed my hands against the bed and stood up. I took a deep breath and quickly dressed the bed. I rushed my body into my workout clothes and hurried to the bathroom. Having brushed my teeth, I set my coffee and had my morning prayer.

image by Abimael Linares

Before my first sip of coffee, I would begin my morning affirmations, a practice I’d adapted during the pandemic. 

I reached for my gaze in the mirror. Her eyes were looking back at me - tired, discouraged, with an aching body, and the first day of her menstrual cycle.

I couldn’t lie. I wasn’t going to say, “today is gonna be a great day, you got this.” I couldn’t. I didn't even have the energy to uplift myself because I didn't want to start my day off with a lie. Instead I said, “I know you’re not feeling your best today and that’s ok. Go at your pace and do your best. I love you. I got you.” I smiled with compassion, with empathy, and I took a moment to just accept that.

My old therapist would constantly remind me of my need for validation. It wasn’t necessarily that I wanted it, but that I needed it, and I was responsible for giving it to myself. Perhaps she was right because standing in front of that mirror and addressing my reality brought me peace. I gave myself the permission I needed to just be and accept that it wasn't going to be my best day, but it would be honest. And it was.

It wasn't an easy day. I ran on low energy and low motivation, but eagerness was the main theme. I was eager to run down my to-do list, to check off the boxes, to get things done. It was a work from home day, but it wasn’t a stay at home day.

​After a forced workout, I felt some motivation. I got ready for the day. I had zoom meetings. I finished some work. I had lunch as I revised a story. Progressively, I felt my body giving up. My mind was telling me what a fraud I was, “Why do you even call yourself a writer? This is terrible. You should just quit.” I sat before my words as they looked back at me from the computer screen. I made a call to a friend to help pull me out, but that friend wasn't available. I dissociated. I flew away from my body for a few minutes and fought my way back. Upon my arrival, I pulled my body up from the chair and paced around my apartment. The destructive monologue in my head discovered sound and I verbalized every negative thought, so I could hear it loud and clear. I heard it, but I couldn’t believe what I was saying. How could I be so cruel to myself? I reached for my gaze in the mirror. I told those dark brown eyes that she was loved and that she would be ok.

Following a debate on whether I would continue the checklist or call it a day, my distress needed therapy, so I checked the next box. I vacuumed. I cooked. I cleaned the kitchen. I cleaned the bathroom. I watered the plants. As I was watering the plants, I realized how out of touch I was at that moment. As the water sprinkled out of the watering can, I noticed how the water met the soil, how the pot felt in my hand, how I hadn’t been present a moment since I began rushing through my list. The thought of life came to me. And I questioned, had I fallen into a trap and suddenly realized it? Was this it, getting through the day’s checklist, going to bed, and starting all over again? Was life just a big checklist? I’d been in constant hurry. If the finish line is my last breath, why am I racing toward it?

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by Jessica G Ferrer
Personals. February 2023.