The Beast Behind the Beauty: How my Reflection Perturbed Me
People often told me I should have been a model. My identical twin even had a brief modelling stint and appeared in the local paper. I had fair, angular features, blue eyes from Dad, an early growth spurt that made me tall against other schoolgirls.
But inside, I felt ugly. Disfigured and unfeminine. Adolescence came like a spotlight shining on me and all I wanted to do was hide in the dark. I didn’t want anyone looking at me.
My book Mirror Image Shattered explains, my diaries from college describe ‘terrible shyness,’ times where I froze for an hour at Christmas parties, terrified boys would detect the black, ugly thing I drag around. I feared people would see this other self in my eyes. I feared they would find me uneasy to be around. She’s a bit ‘weird’, ‘eerie’. She doesn’t say much. What’s wrong with her?
I envied carefree girls who revel in being themselves and joke around with other boys. I wished I could be like that. Instead, boys seemed to find me unapproachable, serious. I made myself boring so no one would notice.
I felt ungainly next to my petite sisters with heart‑shaped faces and curvy hips like Mum. But by my teens, my features evened out. My reflection was…okay, dare I say it. I began to like how I looked. But something behind my face perturbed me. I felt like a leper, disfigured, and grateful for any attention I got because it meant someone was willing to overlook the trophy of shame I carried.
Being me was uncomfortable. How could anyone else feel at ease with me?
I may have looked pretty and young, but inside I was shackled — like my imaginary boyfriend. I have an imaginary friend whom I called Aidan. He carries my shame. He is shackled to a graffiti‑covered railway bridge overlooking a derelict house. He is horrifically disfigured due to his ugly life. My writing keeps returning to disfigurements.
Mark would go out for pints and occasional cannabis with ex‑students while I stayed in and toiled over my novel about tortured souls. Marriage felt like a disguise, a way to hide who I really was. A wedding ring meant I was unavailable, protected from scrutiny. Mark was perfect for my purpose. He was easy going and didn’t notice things.
But the thing I carried continued to seep through everything I did. Only now am I beginning to see it in my writing – my novel of the time which I called, The Lessons. I have written a book analysing this novel. I now know about Aidan’s disfigurement. They are a reflection of my own.
That is how The Lessons felt to me.
I had a blueprint in my head — a shape — but it was inaccessible to my conscious awareness. I knew when scenes in my novel felt wrong, but rarely when they felt right. I spent thousands of hours trying to reach the shape, but the novel remained miles from the vision. Sometimes I convinced myself it was good, but dozens of rejection letters from publishers tell another story.
For years, the pyramid of my novel remained in tatters. I was at the bottom, buried in rubble.
My reflection showed a young woman with striking features. My inner world was a wasteland of shame, intrusive thoughts, and a secret identity who seemed to know the truth about my inner disfigurement.
I was living a lie. My marriage was a farce. My dream of becoming a bestselling author was delusional. And yet, the truth-driven blueprint kept nagging at me. And my secret world continued to burn inside while I lived a lie.
The blog posts below and my books finally unravel the truth behind my shadow self. And why I felt ugly inside. My disfigurement was real. Not imagined at all.
About me
Start here How I learned the truth about my past in 10 parts
Buy my books from Amazon
Themes in my work
But inside, I felt ugly. Disfigured and unfeminine. Adolescence came like a spotlight shining on me and all I wanted to do was hide in the dark. I didn’t want anyone looking at me.
My mirror image seemed to hide an inner disfigurement. Analysis taken from my book The Lessons
My book Mirror Image Shattered explains, my diaries from college describe ‘terrible shyness,’ times where I froze for an hour at Christmas parties, terrified boys would detect the black, ugly thing I drag around. I feared people would see this other self in my eyes. I feared they would find me uneasy to be around. She’s a bit ‘weird’, ‘eerie’. She doesn’t say much. What’s wrong with her?
I envied carefree girls who revel in being themselves and joke around with other boys. I wished I could be like that. Instead, boys seemed to find me unapproachable, serious. I made myself boring so no one would notice.
Excerpts on this blog is taken from my book The Lessons. Click to buy from Amazon
Being me was uncomfortable. How could anyone else feel at ease with me?
The Discomfort of Being Me
When my fiancé Mark said yes to my proposal after a long and slow courting process, I felt private relief at being ‘taken off the shelf.’ People told me I had been mad to marry so young. They didn’t know about the night when my identity had almost ripped apart.I may have looked pretty and young, but inside I was shackled — like my imaginary boyfriend. I have an imaginary friend whom I called Aidan. He carries my shame. He is shackled to a graffiti‑covered railway bridge overlooking a derelict house. He is horrifically disfigured due to his ugly life. My writing keeps returning to disfigurements.
Mark would go out for pints and occasional cannabis with ex‑students while I stayed in and toiled over my novel about tortured souls. Marriage felt like a disguise, a way to hide who I really was. A wedding ring meant I was unavailable, protected from scrutiny. Mark was perfect for my purpose. He was easy going and didn’t notice things.
But the thing I carried continued to seep through everything I did. Only now am I beginning to see it in my writing – my novel of the time which I called, The Lessons. I have written a book analysing this novel. I now know about Aidan’s disfigurement. They are a reflection of my own.
The Blueprint of Past Truth
The best way to explain my relationship with my novel is through Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977). In the film, Dreyfuss becomes obsessed with sculpting a mound he has seen in a vision. He knows how it shouldn’t look, but not how it should. The shape torments him until he finally sees Devil’s Tower on TV — the exact form he had been trying to recreate.That is how The Lessons felt to me.
I had a blueprint in my head — a shape — but it was inaccessible to my conscious awareness. I knew when scenes in my novel felt wrong, but rarely when they felt right. I spent thousands of hours trying to reach the shape, but the novel remained miles from the vision. Sometimes I convinced myself it was good, but dozens of rejection letters from publishers tell another story.
For years, the pyramid of my novel remained in tatters. I was at the bottom, buried in rubble.
Living a Lie Due to Buried Trauma
I didn’t care about being pretty, young, or fancied by boys. I simply wanted freedom — freedom from the black guilt I carry. Beauty meant nothing — freedom meant everything.My reflection showed a young woman with striking features. My inner world was a wasteland of shame, intrusive thoughts, and a secret identity who seemed to know the truth about my inner disfigurement.
I was living a lie. My marriage was a farce. My dream of becoming a bestselling author was delusional. And yet, the truth-driven blueprint kept nagging at me. And my secret world continued to burn inside while I lived a lie.
The blog posts below and my books finally unravel the truth behind my shadow self. And why I felt ugly inside. My disfigurement was real. Not imagined at all.
Chief Posts on this Blog
Home About this blog and popular posts.About me
Start here How I learned the truth about my past in 10 parts
Buy my books from Amazon
Themes in my work
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