The image I see when I look in the mirror has only rarely matched the image I carry of myself in my mind. I imagine we’re all like that. There are those who see fat or skinny when the world disagrees with them. There are those see young or old, fit or flabby, pretty or ugly. We hear a lot about people who have a negative body image, despite everyone around them thinking of their looks in a very positive light.

I remember back in high school, when I was already dating David, who would become my husband, thinking very frankly about my looks. I knew well I wasn’t super-model material, that I was far from the prettiest girl in my school, even. But I also knew that I was the kind of everyday pretty that, when viewed through the eyes of love, would make someone say I was the most beautiful woman in the world. Something David has said to me countless times over the years. He tells me every day–multiple times a day–that I’m pretty, and he says it in a tone of love and adoration. Never has a day gone by that he didn’t affirm me in this way. My parents have always been so affirming as well.

Maybe that’s why I never lacked for confidence. I know my physical flaws–I have no delusions. And when someone (other than those who love me) are too effusive in their praise, I give them the side-eye. But the me I feel like as I’m going through my day has so little to do with the me I see when I look in the mirror. I feel like I’m exactly who I need to be (most of the time). I feel like the me other people see will reflect that. Is it true? No idea, LOL. But it’s how I’ve gone through life.

Then came cancer. When I responded to losing half my hair within 24 hours by shaving the rest off, the me I saw when I looked in the mirror definitely didn’t match my self-image. Five months later, I still don’t identify as that baldie. 😉 My hair is starting to grow back, and I laugh at how I now look like a balding man, with shiny spots still on top but a nice fringe around the back. My eyebrows and eyelashes have thinned, and I frequently have circles under my eyes (especially after surgery), so when I look in the mirror, I think “Wow, hello, cancer patient!”

But that’s not what I feel like when I’m not looking in the mirror. (Okay, there are days…LOL). I feel like…me. The same person who has always traveled through life with confidence and optimism, even when I probably shouldn’t, by rights. Yes, I get frustrated when the image doesn’t reflect that version of myself. I’m ready to look like me again, and I definitely don’t. But it’s easy to forget, as I’m going about my day. It’s easy to ignore.

Then came surgery. Bilateral mastectomy. Months before I even had the surgery, my physical therapist was writing a referral to get me in with a counselor who specializes in body image. I figured that would be smart, even though I didn’t have negative thoughts about it yet. I haven’t yet actually seen any mental health specialists, though, so these first weeks after surgery, it’s just been me and my family thinking it through.

Can I think myself to tears over the changes to my body? Yes. I did so one night. It was important to grapple with all that will never be the same, to realize that I no longer had the breasts that nursed my children. My husband and I had some long talks about what grieving a part of one’s body really is and looks like. And then…I felt like I had permission to just be me again. To be curious about these changes, and to be curious about how they’d continue to evolve as I go through the very lengthy reconstruction process.

David worried that I was just saying the right words, at one point. Words about how this body is not who I am, about how when I was struck with fear or worry in the weeks leading up to surgery, I’d make a concerted effort to pray. He was baffled at “how okay” I was. Was I just in denial? Was I not grieving properly? That would be when I took that night to cry and talk though it all.

In the first week post-surgery, I wasn’t allowed to take off the ace bandage they’d wrapped me in or take off the surgical compression bra, so I hadn’t seen myself. And I’ll admit it–I wasn’t exactly looking forward to that first full look. A few days afterward, my mom asked, “How did you feel when you first saw yourself?” her tone one of worry and love and sympathy.

I kinda laughed. “Well, I don’t exactly like the way it looks…but it’s interesting to see what they did and imagine how it’ll look as I go through the process. It looks funny, but it’s okay.” And I meant it. It’s not hideous. I look at the incisions that will become scars, and I see battle wounds that mean I’m still alive, that I’m reclaiming health.

It’s not the me I feel like, when I look in the mirror. But it rarely is. That’s okay. It’s the me I’ve earned. Just like those stretch marks on my hips tell the story of carrying a child, just like the scar on my ankle tells of rollerskating without socks as a child, just as the curve to my neck tells of too many hours hunched over my keyboard writing books. The bald head says that I’m fighting cancer (and winning!). And this new change just tells part of that ongoing story of claiming health and a future. I can’t hate the thing that will help me achieve that. I can think it looks funny, and I can certainly not love the painful process, but I made the decision with one goal in mind: never going through breast cancer again. I know this doesn’t guarantee it, but it makes it more likely. And so, I celebrate it.

The me I see in the mirror doesn’t match the me I see in mind…and yet, it does. Because the me I see in the mirror is a warrior, one who bears the marks of the battle but is still fighting. Can I pick out all my flaws, all the things I’m eager to see change, all the things I will mitigate with makeup and hats and wigs when I feel like altering that image for a while? Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean I don’t also see what lies beneath.

I am the most beautiful woman in the world to the man who loves me. I am a woman of strength and faith in the eyes of my family and friends. I am a mother who shows her children that we can fight and win whatever battles life throws at us.

I am a daughter of God, precious in His sight.

The me I see in the mirror matches none of my ideals of beauty. But the me I see in the mirror is beautiful. That reflection tells part of my story–and my reaction to it tells another part.

I daresay when you look in the mirror, you don’t see exactly what you wish you looked like either. But your reflection is part of your story. You have earned every curve, every dip, every scar, every freckle, every wrinkle, every line. You are exactly the you that God created in His image, and you are loved. You are beautiful. You are you.

The image that greets us in the mirror is part of us…but we are so much more than our image alone. We are His image. And that makes us all beyond compare.