She’s there behind me, every time I look in the mirror. Comparing her reflection to mine. She shakes her head, that one with the perfect complexion. That size 0 waist mocks me.
I hear her disapproving voice inside my head every time I try to pull on a pair of jeans. The ones that won’t quite button. The ones that don’t cover my bulges.
She laughs as I dig through my dresser drawers, looking for something, anything that will make me feel pretty today. She taunts me from my closet where I pull clothes from hangers and pull them over my head only to toss them on my bed in despair.
I know she lies. But her voice is so loud.
She’s there outside my bedroom door, waiting. I walk out with trepidation. Hoping she won’t notice my red-rimmed eyes.
“Momma, you look so beautiful!” she exclaims with delight.
She follows me back to the bathroom mirror. I would so much rather be alone, but she hangs about. Begging for a bit of makeup on her little cheeks.
“Mommy, will you do that to my hair, too?” She pats my dress. She thinks it is lovely.
I know she loves me. But love is blind.
And at the end of the day, which voice is loudest? Which one echoes in my ears as I fall asleep? And which one greets me with my first glance in the mirror?
The voice I listen to.