Who's the fairest of them all?  Not me.  Ick.  Ew.  Yucky.  Nice hair (NOT!)  I hate my outfit.  I'm going back to bed.  

That's how I feel some mornings.  Relate?  Maybe you don't, and I hope not!  That puts you in the category of the really, really lucky!  Oh, those crazy voices I hear when I look in the mirror some days.  But the other night, after a wonderful (yes, I said wonderful) encounter with my bathroom mirror, I started to think that it's not really me after all.  Perhaps it all has to do with the particular mirrors into which I am choosing to gaze.  ("Gaze?"  That's a little too fairy-tale.  "Cast a sidelong glance" may be a little more like it, or even better, "glare.")   I'll tell you what happened in just a second. . . but first, a brief history of mirrors. 

Mirrors were invented in. . . okay, I really don't know. . . but they go back to fairy tale days, and that's a long time ago, (or once upon a time) and they've been torturing girls and women ever since.  

The evil queen in Snow White looked into a nasty mirror that talked back to her.  Unfair, don't you think?  She asked a simple question. . . and got a big slap in the face!  A mirror in a girl's OWN castle should at least tell some little white lies.   "You're the fairest of them all, duh!  The most beautiful.  Your hair looks great today, and your outfit totally rocks.  You've lost weight, you did a super job with the kids this morning, and hey, when did you start looking younger everyday?"  But no, they often criticize, uninvited, and on very specific topics.  Offering unsolicited, harsh opinions from their flat, shiny, glass surface.  How many outfits have I tossed back in the closet because my mirror said one week it was a great pick, but the next, not so much?  How many hairstyles redone, how much time wasted?  

I might glance at a mirror in a friend's home to check my hair, and suddenly, I'm awash with insecurities.  Thanks, mirror.  I wasn't worried about my complexion five minutes ago.  

In a restroom while out to dinner,  I'm washing my hands, checking my lipstick. . .  "Oh?" says that giant, decorated mirror.  "You picked that lipstick?  And where's your concealer?"  And did the restaurant honestly need to install a full length mirror right here?  They're the loudest ones of all.  

A note to mirrors in fitting rooms:  I am not wasting the time or energy writing about you.  Besides, I fear you will use my words against me in the future when I am shopping for jeans or bathing suits.  And tell your friends, the evil fluorescent lights that they don't scare me.  Much.

 But the other night, something amazing happened. . . . my bathroom mirror said something nice.  At the weirdest possible time.  This is when I realized that these voices I've been hearing all these years really ARE the mirrors, and not my own crazy self.   Here's what happened:  I had just returned from Spring Break (literally, off the plane at midnight, and it's now 1:00 AM).  The mirrors had been chatting all week, questioning my outfits, wondering why I hadn't packed better, worked out more, or gotten a haircut.  The rest of my family had fallen asleep.  My suitcase was was open on the floor, the clothes from the airplane were thrown aside.  After a long day of travel, my feet ached, but I had put on cozy socks.   My face was washed clean of make-up, but my cheeks were pink from the sun. My teeth were brushed, my nail polish removed.  My hair was combed, but not "done."  Finally, it was time for bed.  My body felt like one deep sigh.   In a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, alone, quiet, ready to climb into my own bed in this quiet house, my mirror stopped me as I reached for the light switch.

"You look pretty tonight," it said.

What?  

I had to look again.  Because I felt pretty.  Or, rather, I felt comfortable.  In this mirror, in this light, in this space, in this room, in this time.  In my own skin.  The mirror was reflecting me.   I was happy to be home, glad to be clean, grateful for the sleep that was about to come, thankful for the family all around me. . . and there is beauty inherent in these things.  There is beauty in simply being without trying to be anything else.  The mirror was reflecting all of this, too.  

Perhaps we push too hard against the mirrors in our lives, trying to work too hard to create a look here, or an image there.  Maybe we need to listen to what our mirrors are saying.  If you hear voices sometimes, or often (like I do) don't blame yourself.  You're not crazy.  They're not just in your head—those mirrors are reflecting opinions and feedback from a lot of different sources.  Find a mirror that better reflects YOUR beauty, and listen.  Don't be shocked if you are caught at your most vulnerable, your most relaxed, your most peaceful, your most quiet.  Your most you.  I look forward to glancing into a mirror at a party someday (soon, I hope) and seeing that girl again.  Well, maybe not wearing pajamas, but wearing the peace and ease of a girl who is growing everyday into her true reflection.  

As I turned out the light that night, I was stunned to realize that this was, in fact, a new mirror that we had purchased and hung just a week or so before Spring Break.  Mirror, mirror on my wall. . . I think you're a keeper after all.