I have this particular combination of mental illnesses, and it makes things harder than they probably should be. The simplest tasks—like identifying what’s real—can take more mental energy than I think is fair. Sometimes, it’s like I’m untangling a ball of string, trying to figure out which thoughts belong to reality and which ones are just... noise. Not even necessarily the scary kind of noise, but the kind that comes from trauma triggers or old patterns of thinking that don't serve me anymore. It’s tedious. Progress is slow, but eventually, I get there.

There’s a habit I’ve developed, though—maybe more of a coping mechanism, if I’m being honest. I look at myself. Not in the casual, glance-in-the-mirror kind of way, but in the way you look when you’re searching for something. Something real. I’ll catch my reflection—usually in the mirror on the passenger side when my husband is driving—and for a moment, everything else fades. It’s the only time I really see myself.

It’s funny, because I’ve realized that the only person who gets to see the real me is me. Everyone else gets the version of me that I’ve carefully curated, the one that feels more digestible, more acceptable. It’s not that I’m lying—more like, I’m withholding parts of myself, keeping them in the dark. People haven’t really responded well to the whole, unfiltered version of me, so I’ve learned to perform the role of something more... safe.

The mirror has become a kind of refuge. When I’m in the passenger seat, trapped in that quiet space with no escape, I look into the side mirror. I study my face, my eyes, like I’m trying to reconnect to something I’m afraid of losing. When I stare long enough, I can almost feel the truth of myself. The version that hasn’t been shaped by others' expectations.

Since I haven’t been driving lately, it’s become more of a ritual, really. Sitting there, looking into that mirror, seeing the unmasked version of me.

I thought, maybe, a selfie would capture it. The way I’ve been meeting myself lately. A simple reflection for this moment in my life, this season where I’m still piecing together who I am. It felt like the right kind of self-portrait. Like finally acknowledging the person I’m only just starting to get to know again.