So I was a very self aware child. For example, I knew when people weren’t getting along, or when adults wanted me out of the room (although I would try desperately to use my funny to stay in that room). I knew when my mom was unhappy. Well it didn’t take a skywriting airplane – she was pretty good at letting our house know she was unhappy – it was just the “what” that eluded us.

However, the day I finally realized a certain inanimate object didn’t find me attractive, the mirror, came during a shopping trip with my mother at the mall at the ripe old age of four.

As a youth of the late ’70s/early ’80s, our parents were able to shop with wild abandon in spite of bringing their spawn. We (the spawn) had full access to the store floor as long as we were in ear shot of our parents yell. My mother cared not about where I was, as long as I didn’t knock over a large load of pant suits. So I could hide, pretend, run, and just be free.

At four, I was already into music. I have a sister who is seven years older, so I was totally into whatever her musical tastes were. I believe at this particular juncture her current likes were Meatloaf, Barry Manilow, and Captain and Tenille. At this store, I happened to find the most fantastic mirror, so I decide to put on a show. I am singing and killing it for the “crowd” on the other side of the mirror. I have the moves, I watched Solid Gold every Sunday – I knew exactly how to wow the masses.

This is when the hammer fell. I had completely tuned out the world. I was an entertainer – lost in my art. At this point, I wished my art was that Barbie sketch pad, but of course that was not in our budget. Dancing and singing at home was free.

Then I heard a snicker. My audience was laughing? How!?!? I was killing it with my rendition of “Muscrat Love” mixed with “Love will Keep Us Together.” I turned to look backstage and I saw another girl about my age. She was full on laughing at me. The energy that had filled my body suddenly transformed to self-hatred in its truest form.

I don’t blame that girl, I blame my ego. It had been waiting for that defining moment from a cute blond girl (sorry cute, blond girls around the world, but you have always been the yardstick up to which I cannot measure) with unflappable confidence to finally tell me what the mirror had been hinting at all along, “Don’t look in me too long. You are ugly and talentless.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. She just kept staring and laughing. I kept waitin, wishing she would look away or walk away. Something. Just get the fuck away from me. Alas, Cute Blonde Girl was going to wait for me to make my exit. Again thank goodness there were no camera phones in my early days, and I was suddenly a visual definition of “to slink away.” To her defense, I bet I did look hilarious. To the crowd on the other side of the mirror – they fucking loved me.

I spent the balance of my mom’s shopping trip searching for my mother and avoiding Blondie, while simultaneously doing some soul searching. I decided to no longer put myself “out there” and possibly experience the danger of ridicule at the expense of my looks. So I decided to be funny (if possible) and go with what Cute Blonde Girl, my ego, and the mirror had confirmed at such a young age – you are right to hate yourself, you are ugly and talentless.

Looking back, I could have turned around, stuck out my tongue at Cute Blonde Girl, and finished my set. Yet there is a part of me born missing that confidence gene. It has taken me 41 years to figure out that small yet epically important detail. So now I have to reprogram my DNA or my little voice to say it’s okay to look in the mirror and see talent a beauty.

Today this flows over in yoga classes, which is my only exercise outlet. I feel as if everyone is looking at me on my yoga mat and criticizing my pose or laughing at me. Especially me. I am my own worst enemy, especially when I am in front of the mirror. Who invented them anyway? I guess I am supposed to overcome this anxiety instead of avoid it, but right now all I can do is work on it. Currently, I’m still the four year old girl scared someone might laugh if I put myself out there. However, I’ve learned I don’t need to slink away and my ego can take one more punch. It will heal and make me stronger.