In the Mirror

In the quiet of the morning I stare into my reflection in the mirror. Like every morning, I see a woman staring back at me – strong, confident and happy. I see the blue in her eyes and the way she smiles as she fixes her hair, chatting over her shoulder to her daughter who has come to ask for help choosing an outfit. I see the strength that she has exhibited in simply getting up and beginning a new day, in getting out of bed, and continuing with the routine and the system that she has placed around her. I see her confident as she goes to work and appointments, as she attends groups and writes in her journal. I see happiness as she greets her children and her husband, as she meets friends for coffee, and works towards her goals. I see a person. Complete. Healthy. Able.

Sometimes it surprises me. Sometimes I think that I should look in the mirror and see the opposite… see the cracked pieces that have been carefully glued together. Sometimes I think I should see her past – the times of instability, the pain, the emptiness, the highs and the lows. Sometimes I think I should see the person that she believed that she was for so long – broken, flawed. She has an illness – two of them – that should show in her features, prominent, out where the world can see them. Sometimes I think she should have labels affixed to her skin – bipolar and borderline – the words that define who she is and the struggles that she has faced. Sometimes I close my eyes and count to three.

When I open my eyes I see who I am. I see the person who is on a journey of recovery and the person I saw before the invasive thoughts began to permeate my mind. The strong, courageous, determined person that is not only surviving, but living her life. I think about one of my favourite quotes from one of my favourite books – in Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll wrote : “It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” This is something that couldn’t be truer, I am a different person than five years ago, or one year ago or even last month – each leg of my journey has propelled me forwards in more ways than I could imagine. There have been setbacks throughout, and it has not been linear in nature – no, recovery is cyclic, a spiral of sorts that continues forwards even after a step or two in reverse.

Again I close my eyes and I remember, because I know the difference between remembering who I was and seeing the difference to who I am now, and trying to become that person who no longer exists. I now know that it does no good to label myself, and surround my image with the stigma that I used to allow to cover me. It is neither true nor useful to degrade myself and think that my scars – whether visible or not – should define me and make me less than the person I deserve to be.

The difference, the change, the life is because I am in recovery; it is because I see hope and a future and worth.

I don’t get angry with myself for thinking about the past, for remembering the decisions that I made and the paths that I took to get myself to this place. I don’t smash the mirror or storm away, I don’t chastise myself for the brief wondering and the surprise I felt at my normal appearance. No. I open my eyes and I walk away, I continue with my routine and there’s a smile on my face because I know that I am different. I am healing and I am strong, I am able to see the change and the growth and the emergence of a new person. I am healthy and I am in recovery.