For way too many years I looked at my reflection in the mirror and hated what I saw. A couple times over those years I disliked it so much that I even removed the mirrors from the walls of my home and hid them under my bed. During those times I taught myself how to do my makeup, tweeze my eyes brows, style my hair and put in earrings all without a mirror. To this day, I’m still able to achieve these tasks without a single mirror.
Over those years I had wished that what I saw in the mirror would change, that somehow the woman who looked back would one day be beautiful... or thin... or perfect. That her one tooth wouldn’t be crooked... her skin would be clear of zits, beauty marks, dimples... her lashes naturally curly... her nose not turned up at the end. But those things never changed for a long time.
But one day, on my thirtieth birthday that did all change. I met a random man and fell to my knees, literally and figuratively. I was done hating myself, fighting my demons, trying so hard and getting nowhere and I totally gave up. In a hotel room in NYC... and at the end of it, he never said thank you, I picked my clothes up off the floor and I walked myself out the door. To this day I couldn’t even tell you his name.
In the bathroom of Penn Station I put back on the rest of my clothes, washed my face in the public sink and looked in the mirror... but this time what I saw wasn’t a woman who I thought was ugly but a woman crying for help... a woman who was unrecognizable... a woman who was gone.... who was totally dead inside.. a woman who felt nothing.
This is a hard story to tell and that’s why I now have my photography to do it. Some art speaks for itself. Other art does not. What most would see here in this image is so much more. Or maybe it’s what we don’t see that speaks the most. Only we know.
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