Who Is That in the Mirror?

Befriending the face that stares back at me.

Have you ever really made deep eye contact with yourself? In a mirror. Really stopped to look into your eyes and see.

I confess that I mostly only look in the mirror these days to put on a bit of makeup, comb my hair, make sure that things are covered or tucked in as they should be. But I don’t take the time to really see. 

I think that I do that because these days the image that stares back at me does not fit with how I feel inside most of the time. It really does seem that we don’t age at the same rate on the inside as we do on the outside.

People respond differently to me than before. I am older, and they see that. Even if I don’t always remember, they remind me. Their smiles have a different feel to them. I feel like often they smile at what they think that they see, what image they might have of me, what their internalized vision of a woman my age is to them, what they expect me to be.  

Parts of me may be erased in many of their eyes. Different parts like sensuality, playfulness, full engagement in life, aliveness. A whole history and lifetime can be erased, not seen. 

I tell myself to not let that define me. To not let myself internalize those messages of becoming invisible and less-than somehow. 

It’s hard sometimes. As a child learns who she is at least partly by how she is reflected in her parents’ eyes, so we still can be looking to see parts of ourselves reflected in the gaze of others. 

As a young woman, men’s eyes reflected desire, attraction, curiosity, a validation of being worthy to be looked at for a while. This may not have always been comfortable, and I do at times find relief in not having to deal with that anymore. But I would be lying if I said that I didn’t sometimes miss those gazes. 

As a worker and colleague, I was seen as a member of the institution where I worked and where I belonged and those parts were reflected back to me. I was included. I was part of something bigger than myself. I was a team member, needed, appreciated, and useful. At least sometimes. 

As a wife to a husband or later a partner to others, parts reflected were those that were loved and cherished, cared about, wanted, appreciated, and seen. At least some of the time.

As a single older woman, those reflections in romantic relationships are no longer part of my life. I am open to the possibility of another relationship, but also realistic about options that may no longer be available to a woman of my age. 

As a friend, I have been seen as someone who brought value into someone’s life, who was needed, cared about, loved in friendship and camaraderie. Part of a gang, a network, a circle, a tribe. I still have those things, gratefully, although I am now more careful in choices of which tribes to join. Time becomes more precious. 

And now I am also so very aware of those friends that I have already lost. I feel the ache and pain in my heart for those gone. Those that shared parts of me and my history that are no longer here to help me remember or celebrate those memories and special times. 

The mirror shows me the sadness in my eyes. Losses over the years leave tell-tale signs.

There are lines, spots, and a general drooping that has shown up over the years, in both face and body reflected. I sometimes feel like I have become a caricature of my former self. It’s me, yet somehow doesn’t feel like me. 

And sometimes that’s what makes me look away. Disgusted, disappointed and not feeling good enough. It’s a struggle to fight those internalized judgments of society. 

I take a breath and look back at the mirror. 

I look deeper into my eyes. 

There are stories within wanting to be told to those who might be interested.

There is a life lived with both pain and joy felt, with passion and silliness, with longing and desire, with joy and deep tranquility. All of it jumbled up together.

I can still see the younger version of myself in my head, and even sometimes when I look in the mirror. She is still there. 

I can still see the child inside me, still eager to learn and experience new things, although perhaps more cautious these days. 

I can see the lover and friend that I have been. Caring, flawed in a very human way, trying to work through childhood wounds to find love. Unintentionally hurting others in my desperate attempts to try and make myself whole, not realizing that I must be whole within myself before I can truly be with anyone else. 

I can see the elder. And I can begin to see the even more aged elder, the one who will be looking back at me in the mirror if I am blessed enough to live longer, the face that will become my new reflection. More lines begin to show where they will, in time, claim more depth on my face. More spots that have begun to show up on my face and body that will continue to darken and grow over time.

I step back for a moment and pause and think about all of this. 

It can be easy to think that what we see in the moment is all that there is.

But there is so much more to see if we stop and really look…and feel.

Perhaps others are afraid to see the whole of me when they look at me as much as I am sometimes afraid to see the elder who now stares back at me in the mirror. Maybe it reminds them of their future and what is yet to come. 

But maybe for now I can begin to befriend this face in the mirror and know that I can still contain all of me, even if this reflected face is the current version on the cover of my book of life. I can still open the book to see all that is contained within. I am more than just the cover. 

The face in the mirror reflects a woman who has things to tell me, things to help me remember, things to teach me still, things to share. She has beauty in her own way. Different, but beautiful, nonetheless.