Mirror, Mirror BY OLIVIA POULOS

My childhood self would never recognize the confident young woman I now observe in the mirror. For a long while I internally existed within a place of great discomfort; I simply did not like myself. Around second grade I began to see my body change in unfamiliar and daunting ways. Waking up before school, I’d notice patches of acne sprinkling my face, seemingly multiplying each day. Suddenly, I was setting my alarms thirty minutes earlier, reperforming makeup tutorials with a trembling hand as I concealed my flustered shame; ‘I just want to look pretty’.

Pressing my back against the worn pleather of the machine seat, I let out an exasperated breath and turned the volume of my music up preparing myself for the set I was to begin. The plates stared down on me, daring me to take on the exorbitant weight. I reset my feet against the leg press for the third time, in a ritualistic manner, and release the safety guard click, click. ‘Just six reps’ I tell myself. With each repetition, I feel the pressure on my quads grow stronger. My fingers grip the handlebars tighter as I close my eyes and let out deep, paced breaths. Before I know it, I open my eyes, having finished the set with eight reps. A smile sneaks  across my face as I stand up from the machine and recount the plates: 510 pounds. Empowerment spread through my body, illuminating my confidence in a firework show. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I set my shoulders back and lifted my chin, letting out a culminating sigh of satisfaction. 

My childhood self would never recognize the confident young woman I now observe in the mirror. For a long while I internally existed within a place of great discomfort; I simply did not like myself. Around second grade I began to see my body change in unfamiliar and daunting ways. Waking up before school, I’d notice patches of acne sprinkling my face, seemingly multiplying each day. Suddenly, I was setting my alarms thirty minutes earlier, reperforming makeup tutorials with a trembling hand as I concealed my flustered shame; ‘I just want to look pretty’.

I see now, clearer than ever, that I would never be content with myself until I found true self-love. For the way we speak to ourselves manifests into the actions we take. Early into middle school, I abandoned makeup and replaced the time in my morning routine by affirming to myself, “I am pretty without makeup, acne is normal, I am good enough”. I’d look deeply into the mirror, pondering over my features and only allowing myself to speak affectionately. Over time, the lies I uttered evolved into truth, and I perceived myself needing fewer reminders of my value. 

Though I emotionally struggled enduringly with my acne, it was not the most embarrassing trait I called out from the mirror. Upon birth, I developed a motor disorder in which my hands and feet involuntarily mirror the controlled actions I perform with my right or left limb. I was always vocally accepting of my disorder but internally I assumed a constant burden of aggravated shame as my hands convulsed into contorted motions at all times. By first grade I knew rightly enough to sit on my hand when we wrote things down in class, eliminating any ability my classmates had to observe the movements I made, a habit I continue to use today. Although, as I have aged and my condition has improved, I am not drowned in a tsunami wave of feeling unbearably different. Congenital mirror movement disorder is incurable. I have always been aware of this and, in turn, I have worked to accept my condition for what it is and embraced the fact that I am a one in a million case. 

As I continue to move forward in life, my broadest goal is to be proud of the young woman I see in the mirror. I will inevitably continue confronting insecurities, as anyone does, however I will not allow myself to feel defeated by such. I have taught myself my exterior traits do not determine who I am and therefore cannot hold value nor lessen my worth. I intend to continue bringing forth the empowerment and confidence I feel in the gym to my routine life. Holding my chin high, I chose to persevere through the obstacles I face within myself and any exterior forces.