The first time I saw her I was nine years old.
It was my first day of dance class. I had box braids and no ballet slippers. When I stepped into the room the studios white walls swallowed me whole. I suddenly cared what the other girls thought of me. I was embarrassed that I had braids instead of a sleek bun. This was the first time I had ever experienced doubt. I was alone.
“The mirror is your friend, as a dancer the mirror is your tool.”
These are the words of my first ballet teacher. I looked at my reflection, the girl in the mirror, she smiled at me and told me that everything would be okay.
I learned to love that girl in the mirror.
The girl in the mirror was my first love.
She was always there, waiting to catch me and tell me how beautiful I was. She was there to watch me put on my mascara. She was there to watch me land my first triple pirouette. The girl in the mirror followed me to school, comforting me when I had a rough day. She watched me cry and pray and didn’t mind my dysfunctionalities and imperfections. She gave me the best ideas and asked me the toughest questions. She made my head ache with the thoughts that she would plant. As our bond grew stronger she learned my weaknesses and coerced my insecurities, forcing my friendship with self-doubt. She was my cage, controlling me to set limitations on my confidence, purloining me of my innocence and bravery. My heart experienced a passionate pain every time I did not please her. I wanted her, her warmth. But the girl in the mirror is not warm by nature, she is glass, icy to the touch. A stinging burn. She is two-dimensional and cannot be held close. The girl in the mirror, the girl who was supposed to be my friend and teach me empathy and love tore me apart. She became my abuser and I let her guide me down a path of fear and desolation.
Until I realized I was staring at a reflection in a shattered mirror.
The mirror was broken, distorting everything that passed it. Each crack forming a mosaic of everyone in my life. The mirror held my sorrows and worries altering the way that the girl in the mirror perceived me. The one person that was supposed to see me for me, now saw everything I hated most about myself. So I got a new mirror and reclaimed the reflection that onced belonged to an endless cycle of self doubt and imperfections. When I step into a studio the studio, the white walls display everything I could become. When words arent enough, I find myself turning to the girl in the mirror. She is confident, she is brave, she is why I am strong. Her movement and flow speak on the trials and tribulation I have endeavored. When she is there I don’t have to talk. Everyone watched her. She does more than just impress, she inspires. When words arent enough, she dances. She gives me the strength to continue with no external validation. I will forever have a complicated relationship with the girl in the mirror. She destroyed, brightened, and saved my existence.
