A Glance in the Mirror: a glance into the past

Hey everyone! I hope you all are doing well.

This week’s post is going to be a bit different than normal, and a lot longer as well. Actually, I’d like to be a bit vulnerable with you about a time in my past.

I don’t talk about it often, but I was bullied in middle school by a very close friend of mine, my best friend actually. It left a significant impact on my self-image today, as well as my confidence within myself.

A few years ago, I took a creative writing class where we were told to write a nonfiction piece. I decided to write about my time in middle school.

I actually stumbled across this piece the other day, and I’d like to share it with you. It’s much lengthier than my normal posts, so sit tight, get cozy, and come on a journey with me.

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            The abrupt sound of my alarm clock jolts me out of my sleep. I grumble and groggily shut it off, wishing I could just sleep in today. But, the demands of school pull me out of bed, not wanting to miss an entire day of classes. That’s the issue with being a college student—it’s way too easy to skip classes and get away with it. I step onto my soft carpeted floor and walk over to my dresser. I rummage around until I find a doable outfit, a sweatshirt and a plain pair of jeans. I quickly throw them on and walk to my bathroom. I turn around and notice my reflection in the mirror.

            The mirror.

            I stare at myself, studying each detail of my face and scrutinizing every flaw: my uneven skin, my large nose, my tiny eyes. All the little features that make me…well, me. 

I think back to the time in my life where I couldn’t even bare to look in a mirror. I avoided them entirely, not wanting to be disappointed at the absolute mess that looked back at me. 

            I remember why I couldn’t look at my reflection, and anger and sadness fill my chest. It’s all because of her; she’s the cause behind this pain I feel. The reason I doubt people when they call me “pretty.” The reason I couldn’t look in a mirror for over two years without feeling hatred at what stood before me. 

            …

            We met in sixth grade, right after I switched schools. I was terribly shy as a child, and didn’t even know where to start with the whole “making friends” thing. But I met her, my soon to be best friend. She was exactly what I needed, an answer to mine and my mom’s prayers. Someone I could call a friend. I can’t quite recall what attracted me to her. Maybe it was because she was the only one who would talk to me, the only one I felt truly safe around.

 Soon, we were inseparable, always going to each other’s houses, having sleepovers, all the typical best friend activities. I was so happy to have found a friend who I could trust, who I could truly call a friend. 

She was never the perfect friend, but who is? We had fun, and that’s all that mattered. We didn’t go a week without one of us sleeping over at the other’s house, usually hers. We played with each other’s pets, played games, and just talked. It was great.

            But as we entered into eighth grade, the need to fit in seemingly consumed her. Which, needless to say, is not uncommon of middle school girls. At that age, it’s all about having what’s in. About impressing those around them and feeling like you have it all together. 

            But I never felt that need. I never had the desire to wear my hair the same as everyone, or buy the same expensive purse that they all carried. I always lived under the motto to “be yourself.” And it worked, at least for a little while. Soon, that version of myself was no longer good enough for her. She wanted to be like the cool girls, owning the same brand name clothes and wearing makeup. Unlike me. I fell behind in the trends, and therefore, fell lower and lower on the imaginary “popularity scale” that so many kids that age focus on too much. I was officially, in her words, a loser. Which is such a painful thing to hear from anyone, let alone your best friend. But at the time, I didn’t care, either that or I didn’t even notice. Probably the latter.

            She began dropping hints to force me to improve myself. They started off as just making small suggestions about my attire, which didn’t really bother me. But soon, she didn’t care whether she was hurting my feelings or not, and even took to calling me ugly straight to my face.

            I still remember that phone call where she called me that. We were talking late at night as we always did, laughing with each other and having a great time. Then silence fell between us, which wasn’t uncommon, or uncomfortable. Then, out of the blue, she said that one little sentence that I will never forget, that sentence that is burned on the back of my brain that I can’t seem to shake off:

            “You know you’re ugly, right?” 

            I sat in silence, feeling my already thin layer of self-confidence that I had somehow managed to build up shatter into pieces. Tears streamed down my cheeks in an endless flow. I responded with what I believed to be the truth at that time. A response I will forever regret.

            “I know.”

            Those two words are the words I most regret in my life. Those two words showed that she had completely obliterated my confidence, something that would take years to even somewhat build back up. They showed that I believed her lies, that I believed that I was ugly, unloved, and unworthy. I felt like I was nothing.

            I remember wanting to feel pretty, wanting to feel like I fit in. She told me to bring all the makeup I had to school the next day, which wasn’t much, and she would help me. I grabbed my one and only eyeshadow palette, my lip glosses and other miscellaneous items and timidly carried them into school. I didn’t want this, but I had to. What other choice did I have? I couldn’t risk losing my only friend at the time, couldn’t risk becoming even more of an outcast.

            She dragged me into the bathroom and paused at my lack of supplies, clearly shocked at how little I owned, but carried on with her work anyway. She was playing the role of my Fairy Godmother, and was obviously excited to do so, but I was reluctant to play along as Cinderella. She packed heavy dark purple eyeshadow onto my eyelids and tossed on as much other makeup as she could before class. 

Satisfied with her work, she turned me towards the mirror and smiled, proud that she had a best friend she wouldn’t be embarrassed by. I nodded with approval, but I could feel my heart sinking on the inside. This wasn’t me. The person looking back at me had heavy dark eyeshadow and looked like she had gotten into a fight with a raccoon and lost. She hurried off to her class, but I stayed. I sat in the bathroom and stared at myself, and watched as the eyeshadow began to blur down my cheeks as my tears spilled out of my eyes. I grabbed a brown paper towel and began to scrub my face clean until it hurt, angry and sad and frustrated. My face was red and splotchy, but I didn’t care. The person in the mirror was me again, and I felt my spirits lift a little. I was still there, I was still somewhat myself. She hadn’t covered up the real me yet.

            This continued for a few months. I felt like I couldn’t do anything to stop the what was happening. I thought It was normal, that she was still my friend. That she still cared about me. 

            I fell down a deep and dark hole, I cried often, felt urge to succumb to the darkness and leave the world and its pain more than once. But somehow, I kept going. 

            I was always pretty strong in my faith, even at that age. I kept up a daily prayer journal and spilled all of my feelings there. Even now, when I go back and look at it, her name shows up a lot. It’s obvious that I was hurting, but at the time, I didn’t know how to escape it.

            One of the entries that always stands out to me is after I broke off our friendship.  I wrote it about a year later, in a time where I was clearly still feeling the pain from that relationship. The few sentences that I wrote are filled with hurt, desperation, and so much sadness. Here’s what I wrote:

            “I am so ashamed of this, but I need help seeing my beauty, God. I don’t see it. I can’t stand looking in mirrors. I feel ugly. Help me see my beauty. Please.”

            I want to travel back into the past and comfort my little 15-year-old self. I want to tell her that she is beautiful. I want to tell her that it’s going to be okay.

            I still remember the day I decided that I wanted to break off my friendship with her. I was sitting in my English class, on March 22nd, 2012, writing in my prayer journal. I was fed up, tired and burdened of everything going on around me. I was sitting in my thoughts and felt a word come over me:

            Done.

            I. Was. Done.

            Done with letting her take control over me. Done with letting her tell me what to do. Done with letting her take me down. 

            I prayed. One simple prayer.

            “God, take this burden off of me. Please. I’m tired, tired of carrying this weight around. Please, help me Lord.”

            In that moment, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

            Freedom.

            It was as if a literal weight, like a backpack of rocks, had been lifted from my shoulders, almost instantaneously. The burden I had been carrying for so long was finally gone. I couldn’t believe how quickly the prayer had worked. It was instantaneous. But it was real. For the first time in months, I felt joy.

            Pure. Joy.

            I asked to leave the class, and wandered the halls a bit, exploring my newfound freedom. I thanked God, thanked Him for answering my prayers. I had never experienced this many emotions all at once, I didn’t know what to do with them. The joy, the relief, the gratitude, it was beyond freeing. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was going to be okay.

            But I wasn’t out of the woods yet. After all, these things aren’t ever that easy.

            Breaking off my friendship didn’t come easily, but wasn’t too difficult either. I had been clinging to a broken and toxic relationship for so long, not willing to let go of the one thing that grounded me at school. But, as soon as I stopped showing interest in her, so did she. She tried once or twice to get in touch with me, but reviving our long dead friendship was impossible. It was almost jarring at how quickly she stopped showing interest in me. It was reaffirming that I made the right choice.

            Thankfully, I did have a couple other friends I could turn to, some of which I still talk to to this day. They helped me in solidifying my decision to leave her, and helped to make school days a little more bearable, considering she and I still had plenty of classes together.

            The more time that passes, the more I realize what a toxic relationship I was in. I was in so much pain without even realizing it; I was being forced to be a person who I wasn’t. Even now, when I think of those time, I remember all the struggles and pain that I felt at the time.

            That friendship with her killed my self-confidence, killed it to the point where I legitimately thought I wasn’t pretty, that I was actually ugly and unworthy of love. I hated my appearance, was mad at God for making me the way I was. She left a dent in me, one that would leave a scar and would never fully be healed. I still feel it to this day.

            Over time, I grew to love myself again, through prayer and distance from that friendship. I began peeking in mirrors, not fully hating what I saw. 

            Now, as I write this, I can say that the scar from that relationship, while still present, has faded a bit. I’m not ugly. God doesn’t make ugly people. 

            It took a while to figure out what I was supposed to learn from that experience. But I think I’ve figured it out.

            It all comes down to two things: confidence and faith. Having confidence in yourself is so critical in this world. People will always try to tear you down for your appearance, whether it be that you’re too skinny or too fat, too tall or too short, trying too hard or not at all. But none of that should matter. Because at the end of the day, that’s just their opinion. God made every single one of us beautiful and in His image. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m apt to care more about what God says than what other people say. At least, nowadays I am. I always think back to a verse whenever this topic comes up:

            “…The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” -1 Samuel 16:7

            I always try to keep that verse in mind when I begin to doubt my appearance. God made us all beautiful.

            I also learned how to lean on God when we find ourselves at a low point. It’s not easy, but he will carry you through any situation you’re in if you just trust in Him. He lifted my burdens when I cried out to Him, and He will do the same for You.

The mirror is a friend to me now, instead of a reflection of a monster, I now see a reflection of God, for I was made in His image, He calls me beautiful, and now, I believe Him.

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Thanks for reading friends. I decided to share this because, one, it’s a huge part of my childhood, but also because I want others to know they’re not alone. You are not alone.

Darkness doesn’t last forever, my friends.

Love you all ❤