Kate: "Woman in the Mirror"

I never used to be consumed with how my body looked. As a kid, I danced as well and while it was just an extracurricular activity, I aspired to be great at it, (I always prided myself on catching on quickly) and I made it a habit to make sure I looked in the mirror so that I could perfect the moves I had just been taught. My mom would often wonder what was taking me so long in the bathroom when I was five as I was standing on the toilet to see myself in the cabinet mirror, singing into a hairbrush. Those are two of the earliest memories I have when the mirror did not seem as much an enemy as a guide and a promise of what my future held.
As I grew older and indefinitely put on more weight, I was literally afraid to look in the mirror. Those moments window shopping were definitely not enjoyable, not only because I couldn’t afford the items that were ornately displayed but because I was forced to see my reflection in the shiny glass window that the store clerk had purposely windexed right before I trotted on by. Any excuse not to see my body, I would find it. Getting dressed was a chore; I would quickly do a once-over and adopted a mantra, “it’ll do.”
During my first few training sessions, I kept my head down and would avoid making eye contact with what seemed like my alter ego in the mirror. I hated that my boobs were flying all over the place, my pants were slipping down because the drawstring had fallen out and my hair was plastered to my face (and that whole tomato face thing? Yea, that was happening too). Yet, as the sessions continued, I found myself not looking in the mirror due to an immense focus on actually working with my body and allowing myself to focus on becoming healthy rather than constantly worrying about what I looked like. I started going to the supermarket bypassing my reflection hurriedly to make sure I could get the last loaf of Ezekiel bread; in the gym, I closed my eyes when doing calisthenics or cardio to get myself in the zone so I could obtain the most out of my workout. It was great no longer being so afraid of what I looked like and to know that the mirror was there if I wanted to use it, and if not, that was ok too; it was no longer about cowering.
While in California, my friend and I were walking to get ice cream (that’s right, I said ice cream) and I stopped. She asked if I saw something I liked and if so, did I want to go in. I blushed and said that just between me and her, I was looking at myself in the glass.
Now, it’s still sometimes a struggle to lift my head and look in that ever present mirror, but when dressed, I have to worry about being late because I am so busy marveling at what is staring back at me. I take my time while walking down the streets, not only because I am hoping to catch a glimpse of what I have worked so hard to achieve but because I have a deeper appreciation for my life and the woman in the mirror (or windexed window).