When I look into the mirror, it isn’t just my reflection that stares back at me. In the quiet of my bathroom, a gathering of familiar figures—the personified pieces of me—have plenty to say.
“It just keeps getting longer and longer,” Face frowns and grumbles at me.
I glance down at my neck. My beard has grown unruly, creeping downward from my chin all the way to my Adam’s apple. “Yeah…” I answer with a sigh. “It’s usually fine for a day or two.”
“And it’s been six,” Face fires back. “Y’know, you went into the office like this yesterday.”
I cringe at the thought. How many people did I run into? I feel uneasy, realizing I hardly interact with anyone at work anymore. I need to get out more. “I just forgot,” I manage.
Hair senses the moment and chimes in to tease, “And are you going for a new, wild style? Or did you fall asleep after showering again?”
“Alright, alright.” I toss up my hands. “It’s a little unruly. I need a haircut. You realize I could just blame both these things on ADHD, right?”
“Don’t pin it on me this time. It’s all on him.” A voice whispers behind me. I turn to see ADHD flitting and fluttering about. He’s pointing to Laziness, who is too busy snoozing to participate.
“It’s not as though I don’t want to do anything,” I argue, a bit agitated. “These things just end up falling lower on the priority list than more exciting things.”
“Like the weight loss your doctors keep bringing up?” Belly rumbles.
“Come on,” I scoff. “I’m not overweight.”
“Well, no, but remember that time I decided I needed a little extra real estate? I grew fifty extra pounds that year! Bit by bit—inch by inch, I encroached upon your space without you even realizing! By the time you noticed my plans, they were almost complete!” Belly boasts, chuckling.
“But I took that back rather quickly,” I remind him, wagging my finger. “Through determination and exercise, I regained all ground I’d lost to you.”
Belly retains his smug smile, “Yes, but now I’m creeping up on you again!”
“Sure. You’ve gotten ten pounds in six years. But I’m paying attention now. I won’t make the same mistake again. You know me, I don’t even like sugar!”
Belly’s demeanor deflated and he retreats, offering no response. Forehead chimes in, “Still though—and I do hate to interrupt—but if the neurologist believes that weight loss will lead to fewer migraines, well…it would be nice if we could at least put it to the test. I’ve spoken with Eyes, Temples, and the rest… we all agree.”
He’s right. Though I doubt that actually losing ten pounds will change anything with my headaches, it can’t hurt to try. But it’s been harder to lose weight lately.
“Yeah…” I sigh. “I do enjoy exercising. It feels good. And you know, I have been walking—”
“Yeah, can you PLEASE buy some new shoes, by the way? I’m sore and starting to get calluses!” Feet interjected.
I brushed the remark aside and continued, “I’ve been walking each day. It’s simply hasn’t been enough to make a meaningful difference. Time is a scarce commodity these days. It means sacrificing time with the kids. I’m not willing to compromise there. It’s more than just a responsibility.”
ADHD flutters into the room again. Until now, I can’t say I noticed he was gone. “Speaking of responsibilities, you often overlook the things that others find obvious. How many times do you walk by the garbage can, notice that it’s full, but not realize what that means you should do? That’s only one example.”
“I know,” I admit. “It’s something I have to work on. I am working on. My wife deserves better.”
“She thinks you’re enough,” Heart says gently, not missing a beat. “You used to struggle with matching up with society’s ideal of masculinity. But she’s never made you feel like less than a man.”
“You’re right,” I say with a smile. “She’s never looked down on me for my vulnerabilities. In fact, she’s always embraced me with acceptance and understanding. In the past, opening up like that with women usually changed things between us—it created distance. But I never worry about losing her respect just for being human.”
“I hate to break up this tender moment, but you really need to stand taller,” Back grouches, clearly in a foul mood today. “Losing those fifty pounds did wonders for our discs. Truly it did. But your posture is still horrendous. Whether you’re standing, sitting, or lying down—it doesn’t matter. Remember last year? You slept wrong and had to go to physical therapy?”
To think, in my late teens, my friends and I used to jump out of moving vehicles for fun…
“Alright, I get it. I slouch. It’s a habit.” I say through gritted teeth. “It’s a hard one to break. But I make little efforts here and there. I’m trying.”
“Remember what that coworker said?” Memory nudges.
“Yes,” I recall. “‘Growing up, I was taught that a man who walks around staring at the floor is showing weakness.’ His words stung briefly. But they don’t bother me anymore.” I shrug.
“Exactly,” Confidence steps forward. “It’s about how you feel, not what others think. Though you’d think at six feet tall, you’d have confidence anyway.” He elbows me good-naturedly.
“People used to tell me that, but it doesn’t always work that way. You didn’t bother showing up until I was twenty-six. Except for that one summer in 2010…” I shake myself out of a reverie.
Confidence flashed a devilish grin. “Oh, I usually pop in around the mid-twenties or thirties. That’s when people stop giving a fuck what others think.” He swears with abandon. I normally wouldn’t mind, but my kids are around somewhere. “But for some folk, even then, I don’t show up. Otherwise, you have to manifest me on your own, my friend!”
“It comes from within,” Nose reminds me, my grandfather’s likeness shining through. “Stand proud of who you are and the things that’ve been passed down to you. We’re little reminders of where you came from and where you’ve been.”
Before I can muster a reply, my son’s voice rings out from the living room. “Daddy, can you help me with this Mario level?”
I call back, “Be there in a minute!”
“You’re the bestest daddy ever!” he adds.
I turn away from the mirror, leaving the reflections behind. “Okay, we still have work to do,” I say to my assembled selves. “But did anyone bother making a list?”
“Maybe start with a shave,” Face says sardonically.
I pause, then chuckled. Picking up my razor, I spin on my heel and return to the mirror. “Alright, let’s get started.”
© 2025 Copyright — Forrest R.G. Roberts, All Rights Reserved
Image by mrsiraphol
