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When I was sixteen, I went on a class trip to a war museum in Manchester. It was a better option than a day at school, of course. I liked the unusual design of the building. It was a twisted maze of black marble, thick walls growing out of the floor to form little corridors and tucked-away alcoves. You had to search for the exhibits, and I quickly got myself lost.
I drifted along a small ‘corridor’ – using the word lightly – looking at the various displays and little drawers you could pull out to see what was inside. I studied the artefacts; soldier’s water bottle, helmet, bullets, and read the accompanying information boards. As I moved along, I became aware that a girl was wandering down the corridor towards me, looking at the exhibits like I was. My social anxiety prevented me from making eye contact, instead I skimmed my gaze vaguely in her direction with a thin smile of acknowledgement.
Her presence intruded on my solitude, and the tension that always appears when I’m not alone banished my contentment. After a second, I realised that she was drifting straight at me. I tensed even more at her approach. She was walking like a lion stalking its prey, and I tried to look as unthreatening as possible. What did she want? When she got too close to be politely ignored for any longer, I looked up to see what she wanted.
A short, ginger-haired, casually dressed sixteen year old looked back with startled realisation in her eyes. It was me. The ‘corridor’ was in fact an alcove with a mirror at the end of it, and I’d been frightened of my own reflection.
Of course I laughed at myself. Anyone who doesn’t laugh at themselves in that situation clearly has no sense of humour. But the experience also provided me with an opportunity, one that may not have occurred to others who’ve done the same thing. For a moment, I looked at my own appearance with a completely objective eye. I’d suffered from low self-esteem for a long time, unable to find one redeeming feature in the mirror. But when I mistook my reflection for a stranger, I saw a normal girl. Her hair wasn’t bad, I liked her clothes (unsurprisingly), she didn’t walk funny and everything was in proportion.
I won’t pretend that the insecurity is gone. However, when I look in a mirror now and see a hideous creature staring back at me I remember that incident. It reminds me that my perception isn’t the reality. The lesson extends from appearance to identity, teaching me that my low self-esteem is baseless and making me feel better about who I am.
