Three-Way Mirrors: The Ultimate Reality Check

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Three-Way Mirrors: The Ultimate Reality Check

It started in the Nordstrom dressing room. After shaving off a few pounds, I decided it might be time to try on some jeans. Actually, it was a promise I made to myself. “Hali, you cannot buy new jeans until you lose weight.” So, I thought I was in good shape…literally and figuratively. And as I pulled down my lose fitting skirt (adding to the reality that I was in fact skinnier) and grabbed the faded blues, that’s when I saw it…or them. The backs of my thighs. You see, Nordstrom has these three way mirrors. I used to like three way mirrors. Actually, I used to not even think twice about three way mirrors. They’ve now turned into my biggest nightmare.

“Oh my god.” I said out loud to myself. A mother and daughter were in the dressing room next to me but I didn’t care. I couldn’t breathe, honing in on the ripples that had taken over my thighs and larger than I had expected white ass. I stared at them for another two minutes in disbelief. “How? When? Why? How?” All that was left was “Who?” but I knew who. “Who” was me! How the hell was this “who” me? And more importantly, was there a way I could instantly disappear through the lightly carpeted gray floor of the dressing room?

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The Big Push of 2015: Hali's Summer Vacation

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The Big Push of 2015: Hali's Summer Vacation

As grateful and lucky as I feel to have two and a half months off from school, I’m also scared shitless.

For someone like me, unstructured time=laziness=depression=weight gain=self-hatred=massive hibernation.

How’s that for uplifting?

While many of my colleagues are soaring to exciting locations and experiences, I am almost dreading the idea of being on my own, without structure. You see, I don’t trust myself. I’ve let myself down time and time again. I can stare at my Tracy Anderson Dance Cardio DVD and it’s gray coating of dust and tell myself that “once summer comes, I’m cracking that thing open.” I can gaze longingly outside the bedroom window at the blossoming jasmine and promise myself that I’ll spend time in the garden come June. I can shove questionable clothing into drawers that are already overflowing and say to myself, “self, get ready to do some summer cleaning!”  But deep inside, I have that familiar nagging feeling that I just won’t get myself to do anything. And I still can’t seem to answer the same question I’ve been asking myself since I was 8 years old. What came first? The laziness or the fear?

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