The Scratched Mirror

I have a mirror hanging on the wall in my kitchen. I purchased this mirror many years back, before the children were born, when my ex and I lived in the condo. I actually liked it when I bought it, and I still like the mirror.

Here is the thing. About two years after I bought the mirror, my ex was in one of his rants and threw something at the wall, hitting the mirror, and putting scratch across it. After that, I couldn't bear to look at the mirror.

When my ex and I moved to our new house together, I put the mirror in an obscure place. I just couldn't bear to look at it anymore. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw the scratch, and it reminded me of the miserable life I was living. My ex was so temperamental, hardly anything lasted without getting damaged or broken. The mirror made me very sad.

When my marriage ended, I packed all my things into my parent's basement. My family helped me pack and move, and to be honest, I barely saw what was coming or going that day. The mirror was packed and moved with my things.

When I moved out of my parents' home one year later, into this home, the mirror was moved here (again by my family). I still did not realize that it was here until a couple of days later when I was unpacking my things. That was when I realized that the mirror had moved with me from my home with my ex, to my parents' home, and now here. I thought about it for a few minutes and decided to put the mirror up in my kitchen. I figured that I was the one who originally picked out the mirror, and I liked it at the time. When I moved here, money was tight, so I could keep the mirror until I could come up with enough money to replace it. I knew one of two things would happen- either I would grow to resent the mirror, in which case I would throw it out, or the scratch would remind me of the life I left behind.

I didn't expect option 3 to happen. As time passed, and this home brought me more and more happiness, I didn't see the scratch on the mirror. In fact, I had forgotten that it existed. Two and a half years have passed, and that mirror has been in the kitchen, and I never saw the scratch. I have either been too busy, or too content with my life to notice it.

Tonight, I was playing a board game with the children at the kitchen table. I looked up and saw the mirror, and noticed the scratch. Seeing the scratch took me back to when I bought the mirror, to the day when it got scratched, and how much I tried to keep it out of sight in the last home.

But most of all, the scratch made me REALLY aware of my freedom today. I mean, that day when he threw the keys against the wall and hit the mirror, I remember being silenced. You never speak when he is that angry. In fact, I would try not to even breathe or move. Silence was the only way to not get hit. Better the mirror than me is what I thought to myself.

But guess what- I haven't had to think like that for four years. Yes I have to make sure he isn't stalking me. But he can't hurt me anymore. And, he can't damage my property. That's pretty good progress isn't it?

Tonight I prayed. I am thankful for everything I have been given. Most of all, I am thankful that I will no longer have to worry about scratches forming on mirrors. I can now focus on more important things, like watching my babies grow up.

A few years from now, when the court case is over, I can actually be totally free. Free of scratches, free of bruises, free of stalking, and free of all of this headache. I will be able to be pseudo-normal. I look forward to that day.

In the meantime, that mirror will remain on my kitchen wall. If nothing else, the scratch inspires me to keep moving forward.