I have done the work. I have killed the monster in my psyche, yet all I see when I look forward is a beast. An unlovable creature of the night. What’s the point of having a “precious human life” if my experience will be filled with so much suffering?

“Let pass whatever emotions may arise. Shame, fear, anger, sadness. Treat them as you would a guest who is here for a short time to teach you something, but ultimately moving on. Say to your reflection: ‘I accept you. I love you. I believe in you.’”

Has she lost her mind? No way. The words refuse to even come near my lips. This is so dumb.

I glance around and see that I am not the only one struggling with this activity. Several people can barely look at themselves. I am so deeply uncomfortable, I contemplate leaving the room altogether.

“You may be wanting to escape. I invite you to stay with us. Dig deeper. This work is hard. If you can’t make those statements, simply say, ‘I see you.’”

My dark brown eyes plead for a validation I cannot provide. I say it, but without looking at myself.

“Maybe you are waiting for someone to come and tell you that you matter, or are beautiful, smart, a good person. Or maybe you’re waiting for someone to come rescue you. I want to tell you that after fifty-seven years on Earth, I’ve learned that nobody saves you. We only save ourselves. Can you find the courage to go get yourself, again? I know you’ve done it in the past after each disappointment. I can only imagine the things that have happened to you. The deep well of pain that must be throbbing in the center. You are not your pain. Take a moment to let that marinate. You are not your pain. What are you, then, beyond suffering?”

I have never considered that I might be something other than an aggregate of all the bad things that have happened to me. That’s what I see when I look in the mirror, an inventory of dreadful experiences. The realization destroys me. How sad, I think to myself. I don’t want to go to my grave having only seen myself this way.