Mirror, mirror, on the wall...

As one can imagine, mirrors aren't my favorite thing.  Most times in a public bathroom, I walk up to the sink, eyes on the sink, get my soap, lather my hands together, rinse, dry, and walk out.  Not once looking at myself.  Why?  Because I don't like looking at myself.  When I do, my mind starts doing jumping jacks.

Can people tell that I've gained weight?  Do I look fat in this outfit?  Maybe I should always suck my stomach in.  How can I make my legs longer and thinner?  From the side can I pass as skinny?  I wish my arms weren't so big.

I could continue on and on, but I'm sure some of you could fill in what's missing because you have your own thoughts while looking in the mirror.

Today I was in rehearsal for the ballet version of A Christmas Carol with the Stoughton Center for Performing Arts.  It's a ballet studio.  They are not in need of mirrors.  They have plenty.  I look around at all the real dancers and wonder if any of them have a problem with the mirrors.

In rehearsal mirrors are important.  We can see how we carry our bodies, if we are in step with the person next to us, and for the real dancers they can keep an eye on their technique.  Today when we had periods of waiting time while the director was discussing something with certain people, I looked in the mirror.  I was wearing an athletic t-shirt and yoga pants.  By brain split in two.

One part of my brain did the usual check.  Thighs touch.  Stomach sticks out.  Wide hips.  Well endowed.  Flabby arms.  Yeah...I'm there alright.

The other part of my brain did something different though.  While the first part of my brain did its check, the second part kept asking, Does it matter?  You are healthy.  You can't trust what you see.  You can't compare your body with those of teenagers.  You want to be a strong dancer, right?

By the end of rehearsal I decided that I looked okay.  That there wasn't really anything wrong with my body.  That I looked like a human being.  That there is more to me than the number on the scale and the number on the clothes tag.  That I love people of all different shapes and sizes and others probably do too.

It's still hard though.  For the people who have seen me skinnier, I wish there was this sign they could read, In Recovery, so they wouldn't judge me that my body takes up more space now, that they automatically understood before I wasn't treating my body right and now I am, that I'm doing the best I can.

In a sense I have to mourn my previous body and ED.  I really don't have a desire to go back and starve and purge and drive myself crazy, but I'm still addicted to the idea of thin.  I still want to be considered the skinny friend, but that's not my role anymore.  My role is compassionate friend, understanding friend, loving friend, nonjudgmental friend, etc.

As I continue my recovery journey I don't know if I will ever love what I see in the mirror.  For right now I'm working towards acceptance.