the boy in the mirror

on self-acceptance

to reflections hated by their wearers

there’s a boy in the mirror.

i see him every day — in the bathroom, in car windows, on the surface of the pool, in photos i wish weren’t taken. he’s always there, staring back at me.

it’s not easy to live with him.

some days, he’s hideous. he feels like a stranger, unfamiliar and distant. other days, i wish he were a stranger, because then i wouldn’t have to face the fact that he’s a reflection of me.

some days, he’s messy. his hair won’t look the way i want it to. his eyes are too dark, looking hollow and heavy. his skin is littered with scars and blemishes, marks that never seem to fade. his smile feels weird and fake, like it’s a performance rather than a genuine expression of joy.

he doesn’t look strong. his body seems fragile and off, like it’s trying to be something it’s not. no outfit feels right on him, no shoes fit perfectly. Even when someone says, “you look good today,” it feels like they’re talking to someone else.

some days, he looks broken. i see sweat on his forehead from trying too hard or working too long. blood from another scrape or mess-up. tears he tries to hide from everyone — but not from me. i see them. i always see them.

and some days, i just can’t look at him.

i avoid mirrors. keep my eyes down when passing reflective surfaces. swipe through photos without stopping. because when i do see him, all i notice are the things i hate — every flaw, every imperfection, every aspect i wish i could change.

i wish you looked better.

i wish you had better hair.

i wish you had better eyes.

i wish you had a better smile.

i wish you had better clothes.

i wish you were like them.

i wish you weren’t so . . . you.

it feels endless.

no matter how hard i try — fixing his hair, scrubbing his skin, dressing him nicer — it never feels like enough. he never feels like enough.

there have been nights when i’ve stared into the mirror, wondering what life would be like if he just… wasn’t there. if the boy in the mirror could just vanish without a trace, and become something i no longer have to worry about.

but every morning, he’s there again. staring back at me with the same tired eyes, the same uneasy expression. silently asking the same question… why am i never enough?

for a long time, i didn’t have an answer.

i thought i could ignore him, pretend he wasn’t there. but you can’t ignore yourself forever. the boy in the mirror doesn’t disappear. he doesn’t leave.

and that’s the hardest part.

hating him means hating myself. and i’ve been doing that for too long.

but lately, something’s changed. maybe i’m just so tired of loathing him for who he is that i’ve started seeing him differently. not necessarily better. just... softer.

i notice his tired eyes and think about everything they’ve seen — the small moments of joy, the sleepless nights, the mornings he got up when the world felt too heavy.

i see his acne and his scars, and i realize they’re proof of life. proof he’s survived the hard days, the battles with himself, the nights he didn’t think he’d get through.

i look at his body and remember how it’s carried him this far. through laps he didn’t think he’d be able to complete. through the heaviness that made even getting out of bed feel like climbing a mountain.

and his smile, awkward and uneven, reminds me of moments where life felt real. laughing with friends, feeling proud of something, finding even a sliver of happiness.

the boy in the mirror has flaws. so many flaws, too many. but he’s still standing.

and maybe that’s worth something.

i’m not saying i love him. not yet. there are still days i struggle to like him at all. but i think i’m learning to see him as more than just his imperfections.

he’s not perfect, but he’s not supposed to be.

he’s here. he’s trying. he hasn’t given up, even when i wanted him to.

and that’s what matters.

so now, i talk to him. i feel weird and awkward when i do it, but i think it’s helping. i tell him the things i’d want to hear if i were in his place…

“you’re doing your best.”

“it’s okay.”

“you’re enough.”

and little by little, i think he’s starting to believe me.

i’m starting to believe me.

that boy in the mirror is awkward and weird and funny-looking. but he’s alive. he’s growing. he’s trying.

and that’s enough.

no, it’s more than enough.

i think i’m starting to accept that… the boy in the mirror is me, and i am him. every time i looked at his face in disgust or watched in shame as he cried, i was forcing myself to think that we weren’t the same… but we are.

“you’re enough.”

he’s enough.

i’m enough.

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i wrote up an article for this blog a few weeks back and titled it love thyself. i felt pretty good about it, but as i reread it today, it just didn’t feel genuine. maybe it’s because i’m not good at being motivational. but i wanted to make something better. so i created a blank post and typed this all up in one sitting.

the boy in the mirror has been someone i’ve been fighting with for years now. when I was younger, i didn’t really care how he looked or what other people thought of him. but as i’ve grown older, i’ve started to judge him and compare him to other people. i see people who look amazing and perfect and then i see him in all his imperfection. this post is an expression of my self-acceptance. it’s a pledge to that boy in a mirror, an apology for how harshly i’ve treated him in the past.

i hope you enjoyed this post. i really hope none of you related to it, but i know at least a few of you probably did. if you did, hopefully i helped you realize that no matter how rough that person in the mirror may look, they’re enough, and so are you.

if you liked this post, feel free to give it a like. and if you want to read more posts like this, you may want to consider subscribing :). as always, i wish you all wonderful day and i’ll see you next week.

much love <3