Have you ever really looked at yourself in the mirror? Deep into your own eyes? It’s actually one of the hardest things we can do. However, it is an excellent technique for self-therapy – developing empathy with others, and understand of ourselves. Maybe even self-love?…

What is Subject-Object?

Dabrowski talks about objectively examining ourself and our behaviour, developing what he called ‘subject-object’ thinking. Viewing others subjectively (and compassionately), and examining yourself in an objective way to truly identify opportunities for improvement. It can do an individual much good when it comes to our self-therapy (autopsychotherapy). It is a way of both learning, and being our own teacher, at the same time. In Positive Disintegration (1964), Dabrowski says

Self- education leads to the emotional experience of dualism in oneself, that is, an attitude of “object- subject.” The attitude expresses the relationship between what is educated and what educates.

Why objectivity can be scary

But self-examination a frightening prospect for many people. Taking a good hard look at yourself, and your flaws, isn’t easy in a physical sense – many of us suffer from body shame, me included. But to truly examine yourself psychologically? That can prove too much for many. A person who assumes a subject-object attitude…

…assumes a critical attitude toward himself and his surroundings, strives to verify opinions with reality, attempts to transmit personal moral experiences to others, and makes demands of a moral nature both on himself and on other people

I believed I understood how that worked. After all, I do speak to myself in the mirror often. And I thought I was being objective. I’d say things I thought other people would say to me. I thought that was objectivity. I’d tell myself things I thought I needed to hear from others in an effort to keep myself going, and it turns out I had it all wrong. Because I’d never fully grasped what seeing oneself objectively had truly meant.

Until today…

Seeing the woman in the mirror

I had just finished beating myself up (again) and getting myself into a mental twist. A crossroad in my life had left me in an utter state of confusion, because it seemed that my happiness was coming at the cost of the happiness of someone I loved. I didn’t know what to do about it. Should I persist, and risk losing someone dear from my life?…

After much pacing up and down, many tears, and several cups of coffee, I still had zero idea of what to do. But I did have a full bladder. And so, feeling miserable and confused, I visited the small downstairs toilet in my house. This room is very small. It sits under the stairs, has no windows, and barely has room for the toilet and small handbasin it contains. It’s stuffy and artificially lit. But it serves its purpose. Bladder empty and mind still uncomfortably full, I started to wash my hands. 

I looked at myself in the mirror. This was surely one of those times to give my self a good talking to. I stared into my own eyes. It was difficult. It always is difficult, but more so when you’re steeling yourself to give yourself the customary pep talk of “get your shit together, woman”. But rather than feel the usual judgement, this time something weird happened. Something wonderful happened. 

I started to see my reflection as another person. Suddenly I found myself, looking at this woman, who was me, but also wasn’t me. She looked so sad. So distressed. She looked miserable. There was so much pain written all over her face. And in that moment, I felt sorry for her.

She looked lonely and afraid. I noticed the way her brow crinkled with worry, how her lips trembled, even how her eyes changed colour as they filled with tears. She cried with pain, and I started to cry for her. Without thinking, I put my hand up to the glass, wanting to comfort her. She did the same, needing that comfort. I could feel her loneliness and anguish through the reflective barrier which had somehow magically given her form, and yet also separated us. I wished I could take the pain away from her. 

And so I did the only thing I could think of – I spoke to her.

The conversation in the mirror

I told her I felt bad for her. That it was ok to feel this way. I knew she had done things in the past which had hurt other people, but I also knew she didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I assured her she had been walking a tricky tightrope – one minute putting everyone else’s needs ahead of her own to her detriment, the next swinging towards narcissism and selfishness in a bid to protect herself. I’d been there, I told her, and I knew what it was to feel regret. But I also begged her not to despair – things might not go that way this time, I said. Things might be different. No one can see the future.

I told her she did not deserve to be so sad. She had suffered enough. Her experiences of the world were unique, and just as valid as anyone else’s. I told her not to loathe her appearance either, for her face (which she hated so much) was not as ugly as she had imagined. Even red and puffy, and bathed in tears, there was a kindness in her eyes which was unmistakable. She clearly cared about things. She cared about other people.

I told her to trust. Have faith. Keep doing what she was doing, because she did things with a good heart and good intentions. Yes, there may be more hurt caused along the way, but that wasn’t her intent. I begged her to forgive herself. Told her I forgave her. That she should let go of some of the guilt and shame she felt, because it was painful to see her be so harsh on herself. I told her I could see the love she had in her heart. That it was ok to want to be loved in return. I reminded her she is human, and that it is OK to be human. That we are all human. We are all flawed. And she was still beautiful, even with her flaws, just like everyone else. 

Finally I told her I loved her, and I wanted her to be happy. We both cried, but we also smiled at each other, and I knew she had heard every word which had been said.

The reflection

I switched off the light and walked out the door of that stuffy little toilet under the stairs. I walked away with that weird feeling – the feeling you get after having a significant conversation with a stranger. Something that sticks with you for days, because a genuine connection had been made. Only this time it wasn’t with some random person at a bar, an Uber driver, or a person waiting in front of me in a queue. This time it was with someone who I knew extremely well, although we had never really met before.

Seeing myself as another, staring into that mirror, had not resulted in me telling myself to get my shit together, or calming myself down. I was not trying to hold myself to some social convention by telling myself not to cry. Nor was I telling myself I was just imagining things or being overly dramatic. It was not the usual negative pep talk of judgement, because I was not speaking to myself in the mirror. I was speaking to someone else. Someone else who I actually made an attempt to get to know, and empathise with, and not just berate. And in seeing myself as someone else, in seeing another in the mirror, I felt and expressed something which I previously could not – love.

Get to know yourself

I realised I had been doing Dabrowski’s subject-object wrong for many years. I had not been forming a genuine opinion of myself, as I would form one of another person. All I had been doing is berating my reflection with the same negative crap I had always beaten myself with, and reinforcing what I thought other people wanted me to be. I had not been objective about myself at all, and I was missing a key point…

an increased self-awareness and an introspective knowledge of the many levels of his own personality

What I really needed to do was get to know myself. Forgive myself. Love myself. Accept my feelings. Get to know the ‘many levels of my own personality’.

The judgement I had been heaping on myself every other time I had looked in the mirror had been unproductive. But seeing myself as a true object led to unexpected empathy for a woman who was trying her best, and felt like she was failing. And when I treated her the same as I would have treated the Uber driver, or the stranger in the queue, it was a remarkably different experience. Because I took the time to get to know her, and feel empathy for her.

I hope I meet that woman in the mirror again some day. As much as our conversation in that dingy toilet was enlighteneing and cathartic, I feel like we still have a lot of unsaid things to discuss.