Response to invitation to write #11
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"
"Not you," the voice in my head responds.
It's the third outfit I've tried on in front of my full-length mirror. It's alright from the front, but the side view? Ugh, when did I grow three asses and two stomachs? And side boobs? Really?
I quickly do an about face and try to erase what I just saw from my mind, an exercise in futility. The growing pile of unflattering outfits mirror my mounting frustration.
As I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, I hear a raspy, deliberate, calm voice ask, "
Dear woman, what is your favorite quote?"
I don't open my eyes. Not yet. I need to see the words I will whisper with reverence: "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
"Then why do you insist on making yourself feel like a pile of shit every time you look in a mirror?"
"Really, Maya? You're the supreme queen of words, and you choose to use the phrase
pile of shit?"
"Well, how do you feel right now?"
I sigh. "Like a pile of shit."
She gently places both hands on my shoulders, pulls them from their slumped position, a sure sign of defeat, then takes one hand to gently nudge my chin up, forcing me to look into my own eyes.
"
Do you think I spent my life obsessing in front of a goddamn mirror?"
Her pointed question, asked in a stern tone, makes my eyes well.
"Probably not. You're too strong, too accomplished to worry about such vain things."
"That's not why."
"Then why?"
"In my early years, I operated in survival mode. After my mother's boyfriend raped me---people prefer to call it sexual abuse, but I don't believe in sugar coating it---I lost a huge piece of myself. He stole part of my soul."
"After I scrounged up the courage to tell, he was killed by my male relatives. I thought, 'I killed that man because I told his name.' I began to believe my voice had the power to kill someone, so it had to be silenced. I remained mute for five years."
"What made you finally speak again?"
"It just dawned on me one day that yes, my voice was indeed powerful---too powerful to stay in my own head. But, I vowed to let it speak the truth, to build others up, give them hope, not tear them down or destroy them. And, in doing so, I set myself free."
"How do you intend to make people feel in your daily interactions?"
That was easy. "I want to make them feel special, important, worthy, supported, cared for, loved."
"Don't you think you deserve the same?"
"Apparently not."
"Listen, I know your story. I haven't been raped; I haven't had to prostitute myself to pay bills and feed my children. I've actually lived a fairly uneventful life. But, I did grow up in a negative, critical environment where children were to be seen and not heard and feeling good about yourself was viewed as conceit. I just can't seem to shake it; it's part of my fabric."
"Then buy a new quilt, darling."
And with that, she was gone. I wanted so much more. I want to sit with her on my lanai and sip coffee. Or wine. Whatever she fancied.
But, those final words of wisdom will have to do.
