Man In The Mirror

I finally overcame one of the toughest things I have struggled with for decades. Mainly because it sounds crazy to share it. I finally can recognize my face in photos. For decades, I was curious at why the face in the mirror and the face in photos were so different. Photos never seemed to complement me. I figured I was just not photogenic, or I didn’t “pose” right or have that type of face. But I was so insecure about it. I used to use the excuse that photos steal part of your soul. The idea was just taken from “Are You Afraid of the Dark.” I said it so much that I believed it and shunned the pure idea of pictures. I’ll just remember the moment I’m living. I don’t need photo proof if I was there. Though true, I forget more things than I remember. I just lost the emotional connection I had to large chunks of my life.

Now, during college, probably good to not have my face plastered on more screens than I was plastered myself. So all the wonderful evidence of my misbehaving way is forever lost in the blackouts of my friend’s heads and my mind. Small win if I consider myself to be a professional anything. I stayed myopic that my face had become so deformed that I would often do a double take of the image and beg for it to be deleted. Talk about dysmorphia. I convinced myself that I was so ugly. Now if we have met years ago, people could attest I disliked photos, but I never came clean about what I was experiencing. I continued to push blindly back and come up with any reason under the sun. I consistently lied or manipulated my way out of it. It was more than thinking I was fat, like wearing a t-shirt when swimming, but the sight of myself drained me. It had me constantly thinking I was not good enough for anyone or I was even unlovable.

So, I have been active for about a decade now. Not perfect all the time, but I was trying to do something to keep my health in line. I started to think, if I lost weight I would look better, but I couldn’t seem to make progress. Even when I was running constantly, my weight would tick up. I would look in the mirror and see this handsome guy staring back, but the pictures still had me thinking I smiled like some bloated, dumb goof. I guess I was desperate to feel and be told I was pretty or something. But it didn’t happen. The hollow empty look of my photos started to mock me as I hated pictures more and more. Basically, I would have to be shoved into pictures to prove I existed but the moment of “say cheese” made me want to die inside.

Eventually, I was simply confused at the sight of me in any form. I would look in the mirror and think I looked okay as I gorged myself. People were often lost and just as confused as I would ask how much I weighed, and people were off up to 40 pounds less. So now my dysmorphia was even worse as other people were pulled in to believing I wasn’t as heavy. I couldn’t figure it out, therefore I didn’t know how to change. So why change at all? No one knew. I could just bottle it up; play pretend, and just lie my way through the rest of my life.

So now that I have rambled on forever, what changed? How did I get back to normal? I faced my fear. I started to force myself into photos and videos. I had started an Instagram to start off a passion project to help other people become healthier. I studied and learned all the scary things that would terrify the younger me. After leaving a job, I was not happy about, I needed to drum up business of any kind. I needed to brand myself and I had to put my face on it. It started slow.

At first, I would just film myself going through lifts to watch my form. Since I would judge myself harsh anyway, I gave myself something specific to look for. I didn’t care what my face was doing, but how my body started to work in exercise. People make weird lifting faces all the time. Have you watched anyone try for a PR? Ain’t no one cute then. I just stayed focus on extremely specific things. What are my hips doing? Is my back rounding? What the hell is your shoulder doing. Over the months, I began to frame myself better. Then it clicked.

One silly PR after another. I would see my face light up as I did tough things. I would see my stupid face as excited and immediately get dragged into the memory. Then I would think about it later. Turns out, multiple stimulus does help you remember. I could link to that face over and over again. It happened so often I started to root for the guy even though I had already done it. I could finally understand and re-live the moment where this guy tried his best to improve.

Guess what happened next? I started to live as the guy in the pictures. After spending decades shunning that bastard, I actually felt proud of him. I felt the oddest jealousy of his joy and triumphs. The authentic response to failing a lift lead into me using that person to help more people. I started to shoot videos all the time. I started to take dumb pictures. I started to speak directly to the camera as I thought that driven person would. Low and behold, it was really me all along. The best part is now things are finally coming into focus and I’m happy to reflect on it.