But That's Not My Reflection

Monkeys, weasels, and the mirror of my mind.

Here we go ‘round the mulberry bush

Last week, I stumbled over a pattern of behavior so viciously toxic it almost triggered itself. I’m talking about the kind of deep-reaching thought process established in early childhood that can best be described as facing off against a series-ending Big Bad with no weapons, no superpowers, and no backup. I don’t know where it came from, but I know it’s been happening for a long, long time. It’s humiliating to own it. I am angry for having seen it. No one wants to witness this kind of ugly in the mirror. But there it is, and there’s no way forward except to root it out and heal the source.

Queue me kicking and screaming, “I don’t wanna!”

I mean, can’t we make this someone else’s problem?

Photo by Tiko Giorgadze on Unsplash

Unfortunately, no. This is all mine. My therapist will be delighted. I have notes for our next session, and I really can’t say loudly or often enough how much I’m not looking forward to articulating my demons.

But articulate I will. I have never backed down from a mental health challenge! And that’s what problem behaviors are—extensions of our mental well-being. Somewhere inside me is a little Shawna who learned she is going to be abandoned and punished (those are the base emotional fears). And if she thinks she is being abandoned, it’s probably her fault. What’s more, if no one is punishing her, she should punish herself. That last bit is a super fun mindfuck.