Mirrors

What if there were no mirrors? What if the only reflection we had was in the eyes of another?

Would it change how we see ourselves—how much we focus on the surface? Would we learn to notice who someone is, rather than how they appear?

Maybe we’d finally be free to be present with each other—truly present. Not judging by shape or size or skin color or gender, or whatever else looks different—different enough for someone to make fun of.

Instead, by the quality of presence: the kindness in a voice, the steadiness of a gaze, the warmth in a hand—each one a whisper to the body, lasting just long enough to signal that it’s okay to settle, to be here, to be held.

There are mirrors that reflect someone—even when I’m not looking at their face. It can feel a bit intrusive, but it also feels important—because sometimes I see the grace and the imperfections they try to hide, but quietly long for me to notice—about them, and about myself.

Often, the mirrors are inside us—parts of ourselves reflecting back what we’ve been told, or what we’ve come to believe. A harsh look, hurtful words, a moment we tried to forget—they leave traces that linger in the glass. But when one part of us begins to see another with compassion, even the old mirrors can soften—and even forgive.

I want to believe that would be enough. But I think we’d still find other ways to judge. Maybe that protects us from the pain—at least for a while. But I have a feeling we’d still be stuck in the light of invisibility—where the pain of our wounded parts hasn’t yet been seen, or given the chance to heal.

Because—I guess, that’s what it means to be human. Even without a mirror, we can’t hide from the truth of who we are.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s not something to fear—but something to work through and grow toward.

As a therapist, I try to be that mirror for my patients who have learned to hide and not to see themselves in the way they deserve. I try to be a good mirror that is corrective by reflecting the goodness that I see inside, while gently helping them see their blind spots and find their emotional truths. 

I want to offer enough of myself to make it real—without imposing my truth in a way that might echo past trauma. I’m not trying to avoid the pain—I just don’t want to repeat it—either for them or for myself.

Right now, I think of the great elephants—always an image of strength and kindness in my life—honored by the numerous statues and images in my office.

With their big hearts and knowing eyes—sometimes even a joyful chuckle—they seem to see straight into our hearts—and carry us for miles, never forgetting who we are or where we’re going.

They don’t need a mirror to do their work of hearts. They are the mirror—the undeniable, often painful truth—too many of us were told not to feel. But that also leads us out of the darkness into the light.

My core self, the best mirror I was born with—the one the elephant knows as my truth—helps me slow the work down and be present. That way, my patients really know that I see them and aren't going to walk away like others have done in their lives.

They see in my eyes that I get them. That they’re not too much. And most of all that they’re with me in the present, not the past, and are not alone anymore.

Their body feels felt as I meet them—like the elephant—with all my heart and compassion. They begin to see their own core and find the light of hope—healing the wounded ones inside.

They can then begin to be seen through the mirror of their own kind eyes—those of their future adult self—not through the eyes of those who judged or used them, which permeated their life.

They are back home when they see the truth and don't have to hide from it.

Walk with an elephant for a while, and you’ll see the light of invisibility inside yourself—and in others. It’s something you won’t easily forget. The healing goes both ways, and it extends beyond the past—into the present, and then into the future.

Big warning: Always remember, that you don't have to be perfect, and even when things get messy or you step in some crap—you can still make a correction. That’s where the healing happens the most. 

Like life, whichever side of the couch you're sitting on, or waiting on for someone to meet you, you don't have to be a perfect mirror or be mirrored perfectly. You just have to be willing to be seen or look at what's making it difficult to do so. 

And if that can’t happen, you just have to find the strength to walk away—knowing a little more about what you need and what you’re looking for.

That's a mirror for all of us to remember—even the elephant in the room, who at their core, is just like us—in their own way. 

Just be careful where you step. Elephants leave a big footprint—along with a distinct scent of truth—that’s hard to ignore, but just might help you stay on track. It happens inside and between us, and connects us through time and around the world.

As I move into my second week of recovery from my non-weight-bearing surgery, my wife just asked me if I needed anything. Feeling pretty low in energy, even though I haven’t done much today, I told her—honestly and not-so-humorously: “I wish you could go to the bathroom for me.”

Thinking more about this piece, I added, “I guess this is one of those times I need to be my own mirror and get off my lazy ass—and do it myself.”

In the end, that’s why I write. Sometimes we just have to look in the mirror—and be willing to see. We learn something from all of them.

Mirrors aren’t just reflections of our image—they’re gateways to the soul, which reveal our truth—the light inside ourselves.

What do you see?

Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold, or long to be held by, in the light of invisibility.

Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.