AlissaI walked into Barre class with 30 seconds to spare. As I scanned the room, I realized the only available spot was at the front. A little wave of anxiety hit me.
Ugh, really? I’m just feeling so pale right now and I totally broke out this week. I don’t want to stare at myself.
Wearing a grungy black tank top and stretched out leggings, I’d hoped to get through class unnoticed. The back of the class is my preferred spot. Something about being so close to the mirror while I work out makes me uncomfortable.
However, I was left with no other choice. I took a deep breath, got over my little melodramatic moment, and assumed the position.
As we squatted, really… freaking… slowly, I glanced at myself in the mirror. Geez Alissa, you’ve got some bags under your eyes! And lay off the cheese already, I mean look at those zits on your forehead!
While I gripped the bar, I examined every inch of my reflection. I took note of what needed to be fixed and began making a mental list of products to buy at Sephora to improve my appearance. Then, I noticed these scars on my arms.
Small, round, pinkish scars sprinkled the tops of my arms. There were at least five or six of them. I’d never noticed them before but I knew what they were from. When I’m stressed or nervous or excited, I get these itchy little bumps. I’ll often scratch them mindlessly until the warmth of blood snaps me back to reality.
Something inside of me shifted when I saw those scars. A warmth swelled in my chest. Instead of disgust and self-judgment, I felt compassion for the girl looking back at me in the mirror.
I thought about my week. As usual, I’m trying to juggle it all. I’m still fairly new in my job so I put a lot of effort into learning and growing there. Writing is like my heartbeat, so I throw my heart and soul into it every day. Not to mention, I’m planning a wedding while trying to maintain good health, happy relationships, and a clean house.
Wow. I have been doing a lot. I thought to myself. I looked at my face again. This time, through kinder eyes.
Sure, I am a little broken out. Because I’ve been enjoying evenings of red wine, sweet potato gnocchi, and laughter with some of my best friends in the world. Because I practically swam in gravy and butter on Thanksgiving and I’d gladly do it again.
I moved to the dark circles under my eyes. I’d been staying up later than usual to spend time with Matt. We have busy schedules. We only get a few hours a night together before we go to sleep and start the work day again. The time we spend curled up on the couch with our cat is a sacred part of my day.
And with those later nights, I’m still up at 5 a.m. every morning to write. Why? Because I’m committed to what I love, damn it.
I glanced again at the faint pink scars on my arms. They reminded me of the nervous excitement I’ve felt lately. Quite frankly, one of my favorite feelings in the world because it means I’m doing something I’m a little afraid of.
It’s the feeling that pulses through my veins when I submit my writing to an online publication. It’s that shaky, almost-sick-to-my-stomach feeling I get when I receive an email saying, “Your article just went live!”
Over the past four weeks, I’ve had four articles published; I’ve presented in an important meeting at work; I’ve learned and supported and grown. Yet, somehow, I’d begun class by criticizing myself for not looking flawless in the mirror. The mirror at a freaking Barre class. A class I’m taking to improve myself.
I looked myself in the eye as I squatted. I wanted to really see myself. Who is this soul that lives inside my body? She’s bright and wild and full of spirit, my eyes reflected back to me.
You are awesome, I told myself. And so are you.
With love,
Alissa
