Who are you?

I stare into the gilded mirror. And you stare back.

Who are you?

That unknown stranger looking back at me blinks her eyes. She doesn’t recognize me.

Who are you I ask again?

Your piercing dark eyes stare back. We have the same large almond shaped eyes.

I examine closer. And ask, when did those dark circles appear? Have you seen this, your cheeks have become so puffy?

The defeated look sitting in your eyes envelopes your grief.

Is that a new freckle I see, or a few at the top of your cheeks?

This time you half smile. You oddly seem to like these.

Who are you? I inquire again with much concern. You really do look different. And agree, the freckles are fine, but the rest of you doesn't seem right.

Where is that youthful girl I loved observing in the mirror day after day, who was always filled with an inner glee and outer glow? That beautiful youth, that energetic beauty you exuded for the merry-go-round of joy and the excitement of living life. I miss you.

You shrug your shoulders. And shake your head in disgust. You say it’s not me. A temporary phase, an imposter.

Where did you go? Why did this happen to you? I need to know if we can fix this. There has to be a way.

You don't know do you. Or do you?

The face in the mirror, awkwardly nods her head up and down. Her hair is thinning, and looks a bit greasy.

I don’t think you showered or washed your hair today.

The reflection nods.

I can guess what’s transpired, I tell the image in the reflection. I feel like I’m staring at a sullenly aged woman. I know life happened to you. You lost a job or two. In those experiences you gradually lost your confidence and your hope. You also lost a child, the one that was never born. And that prof disappeared. But then reappeared. A bit confusing I must say.

You also lost someone who loved you at such a young age, a parent. You felt lost and alone in this world and you didn’t even know that at five years of age. You recognized your father’s loss in various forms, from seeing other kids call their fathers throughout their lives. That left an imprint. But at least you had your uncle, your mom’s eldest brother who treated you like gold. Like his own daughter. I know he also passed, a tragic stroke. But don't forget how much you were loved and cherished as a child, and as you grew up to become a wonderful human being. Please don't forget.

During the pandemic your childhood love became ill. Needing a new liver. He was your sweetheart, and always made you laugh. But your goals were not aligned. When you wanted Caprese, he wanted Parmesan. When you wanted to stay in, he wanted to go to the bar. Your paths diverged. And he did hurt you, remember. He stole your trust in numerous ways. But he was still loyal to you, never wanting to leave your side till his dying day. He wanted to be reincarnated with you, a better version of himself, just for you. He came over near the end of his life with Caprese in his hand, and wanted to stay in, and not go out to a bar. You asked him, why. And he uttered, 'because you like Caprese. And I like you.'

That should give you hope. So please don’t cry.

Time marched on, ding after ding onto your human conscious. Your joyous outer frame, watched TV, ate each night right before midnight. A large snack, or else a full meal. This affected your sleep, and your weight. And again your confidence. You were ensued in this vicious cycle.

Why are you so scared, my dear? And of what?

Now I stare at this imposter in the mirror. We can’t go on like this, the same day after day. Really what’s the point?

Are you ready to change?

A slow nod ensues. And then a half-smile.

Thankfully she’s ready. That sad girl in the gilded mirror. Alright, give me a few days, and I will return.

A week later, I yell, ‘I’m back.’ Some research on the net, and a recommendation from Mary. I pull up a small hardcover book, a shiny cover with the colours of red and yellow. And I show it to you.

Louise Hay, I Can Do It.

I think we can do this. Day by day, let’s read together.

You acquiesce, those sunken eyes in the mirror.

Louise says to love myself. To love yourself. And to look at myself in the mirror and tell that person staring back. "I love and approve of myself."

You stare back. A bit confused. A bit overwhelmed. Even a few tears as your eyes well up.

Guess what I say to the mirror. I am going to repeat that phrase to you over and over again. ”I love and approve of myself.”

Louise says. ‘You Can do it. I can do it. We all can do it. Make the effort. You will be so pleased. Your whole world will change for the better.”

The reflection in the mirror smiled at me a little more each day, as I continued to say, ”I love and approve of myself.”

The End.