A Broken Reflection
Image Courtesy: Pinterest
For a long time, I hid a part of myself, even from my own mirror. I didn’t let myself acknowledge the deep, innermost desire and longing to be completely myself. Growing up in a religious environment doesn’t exactly make a place for exploration of oneself. I was raised to make others proud, to make myself proud. All I ever wanted was to make those around me proud. Disappointing others was a deep fear ingrained into my daily thoughts.
A pressure crack slowly developed in the mirror.
Hearing the thoughts and judgments of others as a young child in school, a teen in church and the occasional comments at home kept me closeted. I wanted to protect that piece of myself that felt so endangered. If I were to open up to the world, they would shatter the mirror. I played the straight part for the majority of my adolescence not only to protect myself but to keep from disappointing others.
When I first developed feelings for another girl, I continued to protect myself. Warm embraces and intimacy were confined to my little green Kia Sportage after school.
But after a while, I felt strong enough to let someone in, my mother. For a woman who was responsible for my religious upbringing, she was surprisingly cavalier about my feelings. But later when I told her the relationship had ceased, she said something I will never forget.
“I knew you weren’t a lesbian.”
“I didn’t think that was a long-term thing.”
The mirror broke a little bit more, like when a rock hits a car windshield and the cracks begin to spider out.
During my time involved in church and summer camps, I felt like the black sheep. During sleepaway camp weeks I knew I had a secret that felt like eternal damnation. I thought that everyone else could see the cracks in the mirror and that I had done so much work to hide. Only those closest to me in that circle knew what my mirror truly reflected. When I became a young leader within that group, other children who were questioning their identities came to me and poured their hearts out, feeling that I was in a safe space but not exactly knowing why. I hope they never feel the pain I felt from that space, the pain from knowing that no matter how hard I tried, I would always be an outsider.
The mirror started to lose a few broken pieces as they fell out of the frame and onto the floor.
In my first real relationship in college, I continued to try and bandage the mirror. For nearly a year, I did my best to fit into a straight life. I wanted so badly for my family to get what they dreamed of, a daughter who finds a good man. If I were to explore, their disappointment was imminent.
I regret the things I did for others instead of acknowledging what I knew about myself. I had covered the mirror in tape, glue and gauze from all the shrapnel made to destroy it and hoped that nobody would notice. I even broke the mirror a few times.
I finally met someone who started to repair the mirror and accepted all the cracks. Someone who empowered me to be exactly myself, my queer self. She has shown me kindness and true love, has gifted me with support and companionship and encouraged me to love myself. I have learned that it is okay if my mirror is broken; maybe it was never meant to be perfect.
A broken mirror is still a reflection.
Strike Out,
Writer: Emily Paul
Edited by: Nina Rueda and Olivia Wagner
Orlando
Emily Paul is a content writer for Strike Magazine Orlando. A Strawberry Shortcake enthusiast, she spends her time thrifting for unique and fruity pieces to decorate her home. She enjoys attending local K-pop events celebrating her favorite groups, TXT and BTS, and meeting other fangirls! You can reach her at artistemily21@gmail.com.
