You Reflect Poorly on Me

Children are not reflections as much as they are mirrors.

Part of a collection exploring narcissistic parenting and the triumph of reparenting yourself.

Narcissists project their self-hatred outward because their bottomless loathing is too much to bear. Memories merge with the present, a twisted house of mirrors distorted by time. The labyrinth of deceit and secrecy keeps everyone out and ultimately leaves them alone at the center.

A friend said adults reach back through fuzzy memories, occasionally bleeding on sharp edges. If we’re willing to dig, the picture becomes clearer: we can choose who we want to be.

I took a hammer to an already-broken mirror tucked in a forgotten corner of the basement. Fate shapes each shard that shatters under the sheet, their exact use unknown. While I cannot control the breakage, I am charged with making meaning of the pieces.

The hammer’s violence gives way to miracles.

"I am a poor reflection" you cry. Indeed. I am the prismatic sky.