Facing the Mirror

My hairstylist was about an hour and a half into twisting my hair when I had to take a quick bathroom break. Our session was filled with deep conversations about navigating life, love, and everything in between—something I’ve noticed happens a lot when people spend extended time around me.

When I got up and headed toward the bathroom, she asked me not to look in the mirror at what she’d done so far because she was trying out a new style. Without thinking, I casually responded, “You don’t have to worry about me doing that. Avoiding mirrors has always been easy for me because, during high school and college, I did everything in my power not to look at myself.”

As I shut the door, I realized she was taken aback. I heard her say, “Damn,” followed by a quick pause and, “That’s deep.”

In that moment, I understood the depth of the truth I had just casually revealed. Sometimes, in the flow of conversation, a truth slips out and unlocks something deeper.

Ever since that day, I’ve been unpacking what I once thought I had healed from. I now realize it’s something that has been unconsciously holding me back, creating a mental block and tension I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Bear with me—I have to give you some essential context.

One of my biggest insecurities growing up was my skin. I used to have terrible breakouts that shattered my confidence and, among other things, diminished my self-esteem. In hindsight, my breakouts were pretty normal and could have been worse, but at the time, they felt unbearable.

I didn’t grow up or attend schools where I saw many people who looked like me dealing with breakouts like mine. When I looked on TV or in the media, it seemed like everyone else had perfect skin—except me.

I remember one day in 7th grade, after school, a girl looked at my face and said, “Ew, do you even wash your face?” Other people would suggest products from commercials or give me skincare routines I was already doing—because of how my face looked.

Comments like that stung because I was doing everything I could to clear my skin, but nothing seemed to work. And when people couldn’t see me beyond my appearance, it was soul-crushing.

To know me now is to know how seriously I take health and fitness. Much of that dedication stems from my many attempts to get my skin under control.

I was so insecure that if I had a single breakout, I wouldn’t leave the house unless I absolutely had to. I remember countless times making up excuses or outright lying to friends, family, or even my parents just to avoid being seen.

Eventually, I started avoiding mirrors altogether. I couldn’t bear looking at myself, only to be disappointed by what I saw. The mirror became a symbol of my imperfections—just like taking pictures, being on video, being around friends and family, or doing anything that made me visible to others.

I remember coming across the quote, “Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter.” But I could never bring myself to believe it.

Why was this so deep for me?

Well, it tied into what I was already struggling with as an only child. I didn’t have anyone to show me the ropes, talk to about what I was going through, or lean on. I grew up knowing loneliness and isolation because I was so used to abandonment and people who were here today and gone tomorrow.

Social interactions, whether with new people or familiar faces, always felt like a test. I felt immense pressure to show up as my best possible self because anything less would lead to being misunderstood and forgotten. And that would bring me back to the loneliness I knew so well.

When I was alone, I dreamed of more. I was captivated by people with big platforms who could engage and inspire millions. I dreamed of being that person, making a positive impact so others would never feel as low as I had felt.

Sometimes I think we all just become whoever would have saved us when no one else did.

Now, there are so many people who believe in my ability to become everything I dreamed of and more.

But do I actually believe I can?

The truth is, I still avoid mirrors. I have a greater tolerance for looking at myself, but I don’t truly see myself. For the longest time, I’ve been unable to face my own reflection—not just the physical, but everything I carry within me.

On some level, I’ve always believed I could become everything I dreamed of. That belief is woven into my identity—it’s what keeps me on this relentless pursuit even when I want to give up. It’s the fire that pushes me forward, despite the doubt.

But on the surface, there’s a part of me that constantly questions if I’m ready or deserving of the dreams I’m chasing. That tension between my deepest convictions and my lingering fears feels like a constant push and pull—like I’m trying to become something greater while still refusing to truly see myself.

What I once thought was just self-doubt or imposter syndrome is actually something more profound.

I have a fear of being seen. So much so that I fear even seeing myself.

As I get closer to my goals, resistance builds up. A voice in my head asks, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” This pattern isn’t limited to chasing my dreams; it extends to love, relationships, and friendships as well.

I often keep people at arm’s length because the closer they get, the more they’ll start to see me. And the more they see my flaws, the more I fear they’ll leave me. It feels easier to pour into others than to let others pour into me.

I’ve been chasing a moving goalpost where perfection is the only acceptable outcome. But I’m naturally imperfect. And with those imperfections comes fear.

I never wanted perfect. I always wanted real. But what happens to real when perfect is the standard we’re constantly expected to uphold?

The truth is, I’ve been avoiding the mirror because I’ve been afraid of what I’d see. But it’s not just my reflection I’ve been running from—it’s everything I’ve been holding back, everything I’ve been afraid to acknowledge, everything I’ve been too scared to bring to life.

I wrote a script for a video I told myself I was going to record weeks ago, but I was too much in my head and too afraid of being seen to ever press record. Even the act of creating it felt like looking in a mirror I wasn’t ready to face.

But maybe it’s time to face it. To stop avoiding the reflection and finally see myself. Not just the flaws or imperfections, but the dreams, the effort, the growth, the resilience.

Because the real work isn’t about avoiding the mirror. It’s about looking into it and allowing myself to be seen—by others, yes, but most importantly, by me.

I’ve realized that the mirror I’ve been avoiding isn’t just glass; it’s everything I’ve been afraid to confront within myself. And avoiding it hasn’t protected me; it’s only kept me from seeing who I really am and everything I’m capable of becoming.

Maybe the mirror was never the enemy. Maybe it’s been waiting for me to stop running and finally allow myself to be seen. To befriend the person in the reflection—whether it’s my best self or my worst self—because both are still me. And that self is deserving of love. That self is deserving of friendship. That self is deserving, always.

So, I’ll look into the mirror. And this time, I’ll choose to see everything. I’ll make it a daily choice because something more beautiful and better is ready to grow and take shape. But that growth can only happen when I accept what I see. The next level requires me to acknowledge who I am before I can reach who I want to be.

Love,

Dr. Nigel Marcellus