Unbent: Funhouse Mirrors
Starting this post has been a challenge. The deeper I dive into the “why”, the clearer it becomes: I AM THE PROBLEM. (And yes, I’m resisting the urge to throw in an “lol” to soften the blow – but that’s part of the point, isn’t it?).
This struggle revolves around reflection – the distorted kind, much like a funhouse mirror. I often worry that my honesty will make me seem…less. Or worse, it could make someone else uncomfortable (something I’ve been conditioned to avoid at all costs, even when it costs me dearly). So, I bend: trying to be all things to all people, shrinking when expected, and erupting when I can’t bend anymore. It sounds crazy, right? I’d never advise someone else to do that.
So, I’m going to write this anyway, because I know I’m not the only one staring into distorted mirrors.
Let’s dive into some oversharing. (And yes, I’m tempted to clarify it’s neither bragging nor a pity-party, but that’s shame talking, so I won’t. “Take THAT, shame!”) Beyond the trauma I’ve previously discussed, I’ve spent my life wrestling with how my brain operates. I always sensed something was different, but my first clue came junior year of high school, during nationwide aptitude testing. A stranger excitedly informed me I’d scored in the top percentile for Spatial and Abstract Reasoning - how spectacular that was, and how “rare for a girl”. Cue the eye roll.
This led to research studies in college, endless assessments, and a personal obsession with understanding why my brain worked the way it did. When I discovered that not everyone thinks in symbols, images, layers, and movement, I was floored. Some people actually think in words!
Suddenly, it made sense: why I need time to verbalize what I’m thinking, why being told how to do something (instead of being shown) stresses me the hell out, why long-winded details and dump-trucks of words make my head spin and exhaust my soul, and why the “normal” way never worked. Add a dash of ADHD and a hefty spoonful of CPTSD, and you’ve got the picture - muddy, but mine.
Until then, I had thought of myself as “slow” or not quite smart. But the mirror I was staring into had been warped all along.
I will never forget the moment when I said, “I’m never going to learn this this way,” and someone responded, “OK. Tell me what will help?” and listened. They absorbed and adjusted, for me. My entire system – emotional, physical,and mental – lit up. I wasn’t just being “looked at”; I was being seen. The mirror wasn’t warped; someone adjusted the frame.
We all need those people in our lives:
The coworker who adapts without judgment.
The friend who can handle your deepest secrets without flinching.
The ones who hold up mirrors that aren’t cracked or funhouse-shaped.
Most of us go through life surrounded by warped mirrors: parents, teachers, bosses, partners, and societal norms. They offer reflections of who we are, and if we’re not careful, we start to believe them. We contort ourselves to fit these distortions, mistaking them for “normal” and for survival.
I’m learning that there’s nothing wrong with how my brain works. The issue was the mirrors, the bending, and the performing. It was all about fitting into someone else’s reflection.
Unbending begins when you realize you don’t have to live in a carnival of distortions anymore. You can smash the funhouse glass or at least recognize it for what it is: a trick meant to make you look like someone you’re not. When you finally see the truth, you can’t unsee it.
