I walked into our dorm for sports camp and started counting. The bathroom had a wide mirror that covered the wall. Both the closets had mirrors to check faces. There were full length mirrors as well. Squealing, my twelve-year-old self delighted that there were so many reflections. You couldn’t have asked me why I hopped up and down. I didn’t know why—I just loved mirrors.
A couple years later, I’d be staring into a large rectangular mirror, framed like a painting in our living room. Lifting up my shirt, I would analyze my progress on “getting abs.” My mom would tell me that I was obsessed and needed to stop looking.
In my first year of college, I would giggle as I posed in front of the bathroom mirror, pretending to be a model. Two years later, I would come back from a mission trip in Canada, with weight gain, despising my reflection. Yet, I would continue to give mirrors my time.
For half a decade, if not more, I’ve gone to bed late or missed the bus or suffered similar consequences because I was doing things in front of the mirror: my nose almost touching it as I picked anything that had the appearance of a zit; smiling to try to make myself happy about the way I looked; smiling to see if my cheeks puffed out too much; checking my stomach, butt, and arms for fat gain or fat loss; and sometimes waiting to see if somehow something would change, and I would see a more pleasing version of myself.
If nothing “cuter” appeared, I would pull out my phone and take pictures and videos, to collect further evidence. Maybe I could prove the mirror wrong. When this didn’t work, I would collapse into tears. . . Was this me? I had the same features as always but with extra baggage. It collided with the vision of myself in my head: the eighteen-year-old who loved doing a dance in front of the mirror.
My husband had tried about every phrase he could think of to make me feel better. “You don’t look any different or maybe you do, but I think your beautiful,” or “you shouldn’t worry about how you look.” Nothing worked.
Then, one day, I slumped on our couch, grieved by the hour I had spent snapping pictures and seeing the same “bad” angles, “bad” face. My husband tried to reason with and comfort me. We had said many prayers asking God to help me get out of this funk, and I had fasted many times in supplication for help to overcome this. That morning, we prayed again.
So far, God had given answers that helped me have a better perspective and feel more positively about myself. None had resolved my problem completely. This time, however, my husband said something that clicked another gear into place.
What did he say?
I have no idea. Can’t remember.
However, God used his words to inspire me. With widened eyes and a straightening posture, I turned to my husband and said, “I need to stop wasting my time.”
Each time I preoccupied myself with the mirror or the photos or the overwhelming concern of my appearance, I removed myself from the present. I took myself out of experiencing life and to do what? To mourn the appearance of a body that functioned perfectly well? A body that I used to exercise and eat healthy. Shouldn’t that have been enough?
My appearance wasn’t going to change how I lived my life. Only my concern changed that. Only my concern removed me so far from reality that I could not actually live.
I had wasted hours preoccupied with my looks. And you know what? I didn’t want to waste that time anymore. Why waste time with my worries about looking good if I could go out and live good—live a good life.
I used to love mirrors, but more than that, I love life. I’m lucky enough to say that the world has endless opportunities to enjoy living. No more ignoring them. I decided to stop wasting my hours, my days, and my years.
Each time I’ve started to slip into an old habit, like picking my face, I’ve thought to myself, I don’t want to waste my time. Not worth it. And with a wave of my hand, I move on.
I leave the mirror and I’m happy. I live my life and it’s better.
Others who struggle with self-image might find this helpful. If not, don’t worry. I have plenty more coping mechanisms that I plan to share in the future. If you don’t struggle with self-image, I hope you can apply this to whatever habit that has been a hinderance to your life. Shrug your shoulders and nonchalantly say, “I don’t want to waste my time.”
Will things become perfect? Maybe not. The other day, I slipped up and found myself with a million more photos in the trash bin of my camera roll. I moved on and forgave myself and continued with my better habit of living in the present. That, my friends, has made life much more sweet.
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