from the flickr photostream of flo

Most days I check myself out in the mirror from the waist up.  If I really want to see what my shirt and pants look like together, I jump in front of the mirror that hangs over my bed so I can get a quick peek of my hips and thighs.

We have one full length mirror. On the inside of the closet door.  In the office.  I don’t go in there much.

Last weekend, Herb and I met up in Seattle with some dear friends who live in Detroit.   We stayed in a great little condo with what I prefer to call a “water-ish” view.  We were steps from the Space Needle and the Public Market.  The condo was decorated well and we access to a pool and hot tub.

We had a huge, full length mirror.  In the hall way.  Right outside our bedroom door.

After passing by the mirror a dozen or so times, I stood in front of it on the second day, scrutinizing my reflection.  Then I did the unthinkable:  “Herb?  Could you come here?  Take a peek at my reflection.  And then look at me.  There is something wrong with this mirror, right?  My reflection is really different than what you see when you look at me, right?”

Very sweetly, he pulled the bandaid off as fast as he could, “Um, no, I don’t see a big difference.”

He hugged me.  “I have gotten big.”, I said.

“We both have.”
I love him.

Later, in a tender moment, he looked at me and said, “I like you.  And your body.  Even if it is a little out of shape right now.”   Saying “I like you” is, I think, one of the best things I can hear from my husband in a day.  It means that he not just loves me, but he really enjoys who I am.  As I relished the compliment, I also cringed inside.  “Seriously?!?!”, I thought, “He could have left that last part off.  Has he ever met a woman before???”

This is where the terror of marriage comes in - being completely seen by another person.  Stripped of all protection and anonymity.  This is where the other person can swoop in and break us down, from top to bottom.  This is why we tend to protect ourselves - even, no, especially from our spouse.  So that they can’t see us.  Because if they see us, they might tell us the truth.  And the truth might destroy us.

Herb told me the truth.  But he didn’t destroy me.  Not in front of the mirror, and not in that sweet moment later on.  He saw what I couldn’t see and he told me the truth about myself.  I realized, we should all be so lucky.  In Herb, I have a mirror.  When he looks at me, he sees me.  All of me.  And not just from the waist up.  He has more than a quick glance at my thighs.  The truth is, we all have a pretty distorted view of ourselves.  If not distorted, limited.  In our spouse, we have the chance to see a more accurate picture.

He saw me.  He saw me all at the same time.  He saw my wide hips and my protruding belly but he also saw my smile and heard my sweet words and felt my strong arms around his shoulders.  Unlike me, who tends to judge all of me based on part of me, he saw all of me and then told me the truth about myself, “I like you.  All of you.  The way you are.  Right now.”