That Woman in the Mirror
The woman in the mirror has a better sense of humor than I do. This is because she does not need to depart to go into the world. She controls what is behind her and in front of her. Her wounds are my wounds. Her wrinkles are the selfsame wrinkles that fail to respond to the expensive face cream my sister sent me for my birthday. A gentle hint that my apparent age reveals her age, 4 years older.
The woman in the mirror does not necessarily reflect my feelings. She sometimes freezes in surprise at my tears. Chides me to get a hold on myself. She steams over at times and refuses to confront me. She does not flinch at sprays of toothpaste or a misting over of hairspray. She grows younger as the layers thicken. The woman in the mirror chides me to refresh my lipstick, define my eyebrows, pluck hair chins. Slowly, slowly, she ages—turning into first my mother and then my Grandmother, whom I had thought I had left so far behind. That self-pitying look? Shame on her, I chide. Those ever-lowering breasts, that additional girth? I will never get like that, I think, and then I remember.
There is a mirror in my house where my Grandmother cannot find me—a full-length miracle mirror where the one looking back at me is a woman in her 40’s, just barely overweight. She is my grandmother, stretched out—lengthened and diminished in width. It is the sort of mirror that was once seen in fancy dress shops that encouraged women to buy and buy. Like The Hollywood shop from fifty years ago, now long abandoned, shuttered and replaced by a Radio Shack…but whose charms can still lull me into a luxurious feeling that all is well. I am as I should be.
I flip off the bathroom light and move to the bedroom to catch a last glimpse of me in that magical full-length mirror, then climb into bed to dream and dream those slender dreams that, if we are lucky, are the ones that remain in our memory long after the mirrors have cracked and crumbled, like other more recent memories that fade quickly to give way to the past.
For the Stream of Consciousness Friday Prompt: The Room I am In
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
Very well expressed and written Judy, Reflections on who we really are, both in mind and sight. I especially like this one.
SAM
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Thanks, Sam. Hope to see something by you soon. But know you are busy busy with your eclipse extravaganza. Judy
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So well revealed. Mine is my Dad
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Eerie, isn’t it?
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Yes – in my case especially because Dad died 12 years younger than I am now
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So well written, Judy. I can totally relate to that .
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I love this Judy! ☺
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long time no see, and your writing only improves with ageing … unlike our bodies and some memories!
This is an awesome documentation of how it feels should we manage to cheat death and age instead 🙂
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I’ve been losing weight for the past four years. Almost 30 pounds since March 2020. No idea why. I started eating slightly more and that started the weight drop. I think it has finally stabilized and maybe the weight loss had something to do with being sicker than I knew.
Being thinner at our age isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. We are past the fashion queen stage of life and more into the comfortable furniture stage. My goal is still to find a pair of pants that won’t strangle me OR slide down my hips.
You look GREAT. You aren’t thin, you aren’t fat. You look like a normal woman should look.
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Ah Marilyn, I need a friend like you!!!! Show me a picture of you so I can see what your weight is. You have always looked just right to me. Are you feeling better now? Did you send away all your dolls? I know it was a big job and she was very grateful. Has she send you photos of any displays?
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Beautifully expressed, Judy! I, too, can relate to that.
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You look too young to identify with this poem, Amy, but thanks for the comment!!!
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The photo of my gravatar was taken years ago. 😊
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As was mine, i must admit, Amy.
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Such a beautiful and nostalgic piece Judy.
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X0X0X
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💟
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Right down to those pesky chin hairs. My grandmother would say when she looked in the mirror. “Who is that old woman in there?” Now I see, it is me.
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I wonder if our Grandmothers thought the same thing? My Grandmother aged early, however. Hard life.
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This is just lovely, Judy. We spend a lot of time, too much time, looking in a mirror and self-judging about what is not right with our features. I try to see my mom in me, as a cousin after decades of not seeing each other, told me I looked very much like her. I am glad you have those memories of your grandmother…I bet she was a beautiful woman! 🙂
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Fascinating insight.
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