Frequently, clients bring notes they’ve taken during the week about things to discuss in session. Lately, I’ve been taking mental notes of my own—not about something I need to do, but about something I need to undo.
I’ve noticed the way I talk to myself in the mirror—the quiet critiques, the passing glances that become inspections. The angle of my right eyebrow. The squiggly lines on my chin. The dark circles on my cheek. I find flaws in the way a gardener pulls weeds—automatic, instinctive. But how did they take such deep root in me?
I don’t measure up, I think. But measure up to what, exactly?
The thought loses steam as another enters: I’m exhausted from fighting myself. Truly. But looking in the mirror without scrutiny feels impossible, like asking a fish to notice the water it’s swimming in—it’s just always been there.
And yet, I’d given a client advice on this exact thing earlier. Does one put a straitjacket on themselves? Because it feels like that. These habits—especially lifelong ones—have entire networks keeping them in place.
There are many places my inner critic learned how to talk—my mom, my aunts, women’s magazines, society itself. I don’t know how to stop it, other than to start making different choices. Maybe that means taking the mirrors down. Maybe it means taping up Evelyn’s construction paper drawings as little reminders. Maybe it means writing notes about what I know to be true about my body, things I can hold onto even when I don’t feel them.
I’ve tried self-compassion exercises before, but the effects never lasted. Bad habits know how to hold on. Letting them go isn’t easy—but that doesn’t mean I can’t.
When I wonder if I measure up, Evelyn doesn’t hesitate to answer. My mom is pretty. My mom is the best.
For now, I’ll borrow her belief in me. Maybe I won’t always see myself the way she does—but I can start looking.
This isn’t the end of the story. It’s just the beginning of telling it differently.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 