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Presenting the best of the Mirror, Mirror Writing Contest! |
Thank you to everyone who entered The Mirror, Mirror Writing Contest. (The set up: You're standing in front of a full-length mirror and you've got 300-500 words to tell that piece of glass exactly how you feel about it.)
We received entries from women -- and several men -- ranging in age from early twenties to late sixties. Several themes occurred over and over, such as fat, aging, and the marks of childbearing. The size and shape of breasts, stomachs, thighs and buttocks were discussed but so were other body parts: arms, legs, hair, feet, and even nostrils. Many wrote of a frustrating and illogical hope of seeing something new and better when they looked in their mirror each day.
Below are the entries from the three winners, each of whom will receive a copy of It's My Body And I'll Cry If I Want To, by Sharleen Jonasson. (Sharleen judged the entries and wants everyone to know it was a privilege to read these candid, often moving and humorous confessions.) Scroll down further (or click here) and you'll find several excerpts from runners-up.
The Winning Entries:
My reflection is like those creepy paintings of Jesus that they always hung at the end of long corridors in Catholic school. From certain angles he looked kind and like he was going to hug me, in which case I would want to run down the over-waxed hall toward the painting. From other angles, he looked really darn mean, like he knew I did something wrong—in which case I knew there was nowhere to run. I was busted. My reflection in the mirror is like that. It could be a function of mental illness or Catholic school recovery that I see myself in the mirror like that. Or both. Probably both.
When I’m not in the throes of clinical depression, my reflection shows a grown-up corn flake girl, an Ivory girl, a wholesome and fresh little farmer. Pass me a basket and let me pick apples. Give me a tree to climb. My reflected red hair is sunrise or a halo or both. My eyes dance in puddles of pride and confidence. Splash. Ha HA! I can do anything. I am omnipotent. Try me.
When I am sick I am ugly. My reflection clashes with itself. Blanched green skin with orange blotch freckles framed by snake fire hair. I am a pop art Medusa. Don’t look into my eyes. They see below the surface where there is nowhere to run. They are tunnels to dark corners. They’re creepy and inviting. When I’m sick I look like I can split you in two with my stare. And who knows, maybe I could. Don’t try me.
But something I never quite catch is that moment between pleasant and dangerous. It’s like a peripheral vision ghost. I would love to see what I look like at the moment in which I transform. In the fleeting stop-motion frame when the switch flips in either direction, I may look completely normal. I might look like everyone else. I wonder.
I’m sure as things happen and life goes by, I’ll see both sides of me in the mirror plenty more times each because, let's face it, I find a mirror mesmerizing. Even if I don't like what I see, I still like to see it, good and bad like me. So it stands to reason that somewhere in there, I’ll catch a glimpse of that tiny moment when I’m just like everyone else. I can look in the mirror and reflected in the bathroom light I see you for a second. Then you’re gone like shower mist. Then it’s just me. Creepy Jesus painting. Which angle am I seen from today?
-- Peach Robidoux, age 32, Whately, MA, teacher
~~~Mirror, Mirror on the wall. Who do I hate most of all? I hate you most of all. Do you want to know why?
Well, you see the jiggle on my thighs better than anyone, even better than I do. You were also the first one to show me the wing-flap underneath my arms and the raccoon-like circles under my eyes. You are the one who won’t let me deny it when my abdomen grows a little too big or when I see more than one chin staring back at me. You have showed me myself even when I didn’t want to see me. You are my worst enemy.
Mirror, why do you torment me so? I look into you with eyes partially closed. You are like a horror movie for me. Years of bulimia, weight gain, pregnancies and hormones will do that to a woman. Mirror, if you are my reality, then I want to live in the land of make-believe.
I don’t know if you are my best friend or my worst enemy sometimes. There are days when I stare at my visage. I see a woman who is gaining wisdom and has love, staring back at me through you. What I am inside matters most at those times. The rest of the time, I see an image I abhor – an overweight, frumpy brunette with sad eyes and acne still.
Can that really be me staring back through you, mirror? If so, show me my image no more. I can’t take the pain, the suffering, the torment of a woman who isn’t what she always wanted to be – beautiful. You take my dreams of Barbie-doll hood and spit back to me what society sees and I understand why they shun me. So many people put more stock in what you see than what I see and that’s not fair. I am judged for how I look and not who I am. I lose before I can even enter the contest, then, mirror.
That’s why I hate you. You remind me that I will never fit in to society as I am. You validate the feelings of inadequacy that I carry with me because I don’t have the right measurements or the right face. You are a reminder of what I can never be and will never have and I am too bitter and too vain to pretend it doesn’t matter to me.
I hate you mirror, but I’ll see you again tomorrow. Same time. Same place. Same thighs. Same face.
-- Deanna Couras Goodson: I am almost 30. I currently live in Austin, TX. I am a stay at home mom and aspiring poet.
~~~My mirror is enchanted. I am not speaking metaphorically. I mean that it is science fiction, "Through the Looking Glass," "Chronicles of Narnia" or "Harry Potter" magical. It's nothing overt. There are no pointed hats, waving wands or steaming potions. But seriously, something funky is going on here.
I have the same morning routine as most people do. I get up, shower, brush my teeth, and then I do my make-up and hair. My face glitters back as me as I go about these daily rituals. My hair looks silky, my eyes smoky, and my lips full. Sure, I'm carrying a couple extra pounds, but they don't look so bad. By the time I walk out the front door in the morning, I feel like a million bucks. I prance down the street secure in the knowledge that I am a full-fledged knock out.
Somewhere between here and there, I'll catch a glimpse of myself in a plate glass window. I see a large woman with a mass of messy hair, a serious double chin, hips that must certainly have birthed an elephant and breasts to match. I do a double take because at first glance, I think that it can't possibly be me. But, the hand in the window waves in time with mine and I know that I have been duped by my magic mirror once again.
The rest of the mirrors in my day are traitorous wicked things. I dread the confrontation of my reflection in a public restroom. At first, I avert my eyes as I walk through the cruel department stores. But, eventually I start to seek out these images. I sigh and accept my lot. I vow to diet and contemplate haircuts. At the end of the day, I stumble home. Fearing the worst, I avoid my own little bathroom until I finally must get ready for bed. Then I look up to brush my teeth and I am shocked. My hair gleams like a shampoo commercial, my eyes glow, and I have lost at least one hundred pounds. I am stumped.
I love my mirror and it loves me. But the rest of them, well you can shatter 'em and scatter 'em as far as I'm concerned.
-- Lynne Jablonski: Age 37, Vashon, WA. Crafty Minded Mom
Don't stop reading yet -- here are excerpts from several honorable mentions:
In actuality, the mirror is only a reflection of how I am really feeling about myself. And if I want to blame the outside world even more, it is really about how the media portrays how a woman is "supposed" to look. Never mind that the standard of beauty we see in magazines and on billboards is touched up to remove any flaw the models may have. This is still how men are programmed to think a woman is supposed to look. Therefore, ultimately, when we as women are looking into the mirror, we are really looking into the eyes of the man we may love, seeking constant approval to try to portray an image that can never really be achieved on a daily basis. I mean, who looks like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when they are waking up with a hangover and only three hours of sleep? Whew. I said it. I meant it. It's true.
-- Kellie Strausser, East Petersburg, PA
You don’t lie to me, but dammit I wish you’d at least give it a shot. I mean, why be so blunt? Is it necessary to show me the morning-after results of my deep-fried-onion-and-Pinot-Grigio-appreciation experience? Can’t you be more like the close friend I made in the ladies’ room last night, who assured me, as I leaned over the sink, spackling on more cream blush, "Uh-huh, honey. You look good. Sherioushly." See, this is what a woman needs to hear when bathed in greenish fluorescent light that makes her skin look like pancake batter.
-- Megan Belanger is a computer book editor in Massachusetts. She can't go a day without throwing her head back and laughing.
Maybe I'd feel better about myself if the mirror didn't just reflect what I looked like, but also reflected some outstanding quality about me. I need an "inner beauty" mirror. In a compact size that I could carry around with me in my purse. I'd take it to job interviews, use it to get dates, that sort of thing.
-- T. Lueder
Mirror, mirror, was it love when I would lose myself in your reflective pool for hours, scrutinizing every fleshy inch, every pore, every muscle, every freckle and pimple and hair? Bending and turning, stretching and sucking it in and pulling it tight? Cupping breasts and jiggling my ass and acting the fool, begging you to lie, to give me what I thought I needed to finally be content with my own self? … Then my belly swelled. My hair grew strong, my limbs tingled with life, my blood pumped like a river within my flesh. I'd cradle my belly, my fingers lingering, trembling with the movement of life beneath them, ready to erupt. I forgot about my imperfections, my obsession with courting you; this being within my womb, this life that I nourished and loved without conditions, this miracle fed my soul.
Ah, my old friend, don't you understand? Open your eyes and look deep. I've just learned to respect you, because I've just learned to respect myself. I look at you less, but when I do stand before you, naked and clean, with my little baby pressed close to my heart, it is not with loathing, pity or fear. My friend, it is finally with love.
-- Vanessa Wilkinson: I am 30 years old, living in New Jersey with my husband and son. If you let yourself be free, you can find beauty in everything.
The reflection is never happy. It tells me I should lose 10 lbs. and get in shape. Even when I was 10 lbs. lighter and in shape, the reflection reported only flaws. I look at pictures from that time and think, "I looked good! Why didn't I see that?" Is it possible that I actually look good now, and that the reflection is evil?
A few years ago, I spent a year travelling, my only mirror on the handle of a folding hairbrush. I went almost 3 months without getting a good look at myself. Granted, I probably did look like hell, but I don't remember thinking about it at all. Nobody ever told me I looked bad and my relationships didn't seem to suffer. I had fun!!!
-- S Englund, Nova Scotia
Now the scary part about looking in a mirror is that you eventually start to talk to them. So far none have answered me back. But you never know when that might happen. Just the other day I got something in my eye, so I took a mirror to my porch where the light is better. Now that was scary. I found myself saying things like. "Well you poor old girl" and "Geez you're getting old." For a few days I was obsessed with this mirror. Every so often I would sneak a peek to see if anything had changed. No such luck. I still looked the same.
I decided to make a trip to the store to check out the face creams and brought several jars home. The labels said things like, age defying, line eraser, intensive lotion. I've put the mirror away for now, I want to give these products a chance to work. You know, I think it would be better if we went back to looking at our reflections in a pond.
-- Eloise McCoy Ritt, Age: Too Old, Sculpter & Artist
The mirror and I recently had an ugly fight due to a recent change in my body. In August of last year, I underwent major surgery wherein my right ovary was removed along with a very large cyst and my appendix. I woke up with a thirteen inch cut down my torso. At first, I was hesitant to look at the incision except to apply the necessary salves. I felt violated, contaminated and spoiled and I had the mark to remind me. The incision healed, the staples were removed and I was left with a thick, long scar painted down my belly. The mirror didn't hide anything, it never does, but I realized that many different things could have kept me from standing in front of it. The mirror and I have temporarily called a truce during our daily meetings but I don't look at the scar anymore in the mirror. I don't need to. I know it's there. I check on it now and again at night in bed. It's slowly becoming less of me and I'm quite sure now that I'm something much more than a reflection. -- Beth Pardue: I am currently an amateur writer of fiction and poetry. I reside in North Carolina with my fiance and our four cats.
"I want to know what you did with the reflection that was here yesterday. Oh don't give me that image! There's no way this..this..likeness is me. Whose rump did I see?" The answer was almost unrepeatable. It was the progression of time? No, no, impossible. I saw the young woman I am just yesterday.
I leaned closer, why that sneaky mirror! The smooth skin, the shining hair, the tiny waist had all been replaced. Instead, I saw crows feet around my eyes, split ends and a waist that was no longer tiny. "You are a liar." I said to the glass, leaning in to glare directly into it. "How dare you think you can switch someone else's form with mine."
Through the latter half of my tirade, the mirror remained noticeably silent. This spoke volumes. It simply had no defense.
I pressed on, delivering the ultimate evidence of my mirror's deception. "You switched my torso with one belonging to a cowboy. And I can prove it to you. I have his saddlebags."
-- Sonya Weiss: a stay at home mom living in the beautiful state of South Carolina.
When I was seventeen I got pregnant. I gained fifty-five pounds during my pregnancy and as a result I now have head to toe stretch marks. I didn't mind them as much during and after the pregnancy, but then I lost seventy-five pounds in one year. My skin was hanging and the stretch marks were extremely deep and visible. I would cry everyday looking at myself in the mirror, grabbing and twisting my skin and cursing at myself. I had no self esteem. If I was wearing shorts I would think everyone was staring at my stretch marks, or if I was playing basketball I was afraid my shirt would ride up and expose my stomach. It took me a few years to begin to except that this is what I look like. There is no cure for stretch marks, and if there was I would have done it. I have a boyfriend who loves me no matter what, I always used to think he was disgusted by my body and I always got jealous of every girl we crossed together. Now I look into my mirror and I still see the marks and the skin, but now I see myself. I see my personality and my face. I used to just see my body and ugliness. My daughter is almost four now and she has never noticed that my tummy looks different from hers. Watching myself grow and change through not just my mirror hanging on my wall, but through my eyes, I have now grown to love and except myself for who I am, not for what I look like. -- Renee: I am 21 and I live in Delran New Jersey. I am a writer and my motto is: Love is a reflection of how you feel about yourself.
Do I deserve these lines around my lips; the ones that make me look old and tired -- or tiresome? Couldn’t you, my trusty mirror hide them from me, and my friends; I fear they can see too much.
They think I gossip out of kindness. What is kind, about telling your best friend her husband is possibly sleeping with your neighbor? Did I mean to hurt that thin little girl, when I told her she looked anorexic? Or my chubby co-worker, when I brought her an article on swift diets? What about that seed of thought I planted about my bridge-partner and her drinking. That’s the way I put it, as I remember it. Subtle bitch, aren’t I?
Oh yes, I will need to pour on the foundation, pile on powder and blush. I keep hoping that will work but I fear one day there won’t be enough makeup in the entire world to hide behind. I spend hours-on-hours drawing on brows, so I'll look quizzical when they accuse me. I use a darker shade of lipstick to hide my wicked ways. Do you think plastic surgery could save me? Unfortunately, I'd only join the flanks of jack-o-lantern-faced women, owl-like eyes who think they have found a fountain of youth spewing generosity and empathy. Only thing, they don’t change, do they, any more than I would?
-- Judy Cabito lives in California and tries to live her life without remorse!
Mirror, Mirror:
I see someone who would benefit from dental implants, a 50lb weight reduction, a new hairdo, or to make a long reflection short, a complete makeover. Or, Mirror, Mirror, you could just be in need of a dab of Windex. However, since I do live in a fantasy world, the latter will be added to my shopping list.
Despite your physical characteristics, I see someone who in all likelihood, could have been a statistic. I see a bona fide survivor. You have survived years of child abuse and domestic violence; you have persevered over the loss of all five of your siblings and the brutal murder of your oldest son at age 21. I see someone who somehow manages to cope with an unjust life sentence (132 years), that was given to your surviving 18 year old son for a botched robbery where no lives were lost. I see someone who is trying to adjust to the loss of her job at a time where she is already financially burdened and who is experiencing numerous health problems & no health insurance. I also see someone who, despite adversity, has obtained her B. A. in Social Sciences, her Masters in Social Work and her CSW…
I see someone who has managed to use humor as a coping mechanism and would not be adjusting today had it not been for her beloved mother, family, friends and Sitcoms. In retrospect, I see someone who is in desperate need of some fun, travel, home ownership, financial security and to meet a modern day Gladiator or Russell Crowe.
Finally, I see someone perilously hanging on to her sanity & sense of humor.
-- Audrey M. West: Age 53, presently residing in a housing project in Brooklyn, NY; Certified Social Worker, (mostly medical); graduated in 1999 from Fordham University in NYC; Career change: Comedy writer. Motto: "Live, laugh and love"
At night I go to bed and pray
I will awake and then can say
My mirror obeyed my command
I am most beautiful in the land
Another day, and I still wait
This mirror is not so great
It does not heed my words you see
Mirror stands there, laughs at me
I'm still a fat and ugly miss
Suddenly I derive a plan
I'll get a trick mirror to see
My body as I want it to be
I went out and I tracked in down,
It is at the carnival ground
I looked into it and could see
A taller, leaner, prettier me.
Now I am happy, every day
I feel I have got my way
I see only what I want to see
Like Narcissus, I love me
Maybe it's pretend you say
But don't knock it, I got my way
I feel so pretty, so at ease
I'm happy and I'm very pleased
So throw your old mean mirror away
Get the one you want today
And be happy as I am now
Who cares, I know I was bold
But the end justifies the means I'm told.
-- Connie Berridge: Previously from New York State, now living in Florida, and writing for over ten years. Fiction, nonfiction, poetry, articles, and whatever I desire are my genres. Web page: www.tulip-productions.com
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