The Faces in the Mirror

Hannah sat in her wheelchair, staring out the window as dusk settled over the world outside. The silhouette of the treetops absorbed the fleeting light of the setting sun. As another day closed, she found her mind wandering back before. The once bustling life of adventure and ambition she had in her twenties felt like a distant dream. In 24 years of MS, she had lost mobility and independence. Now, at fifty, multiple sclerosis had shrunk her world to the size of her home, her broken body, and her wheelchair. The days blurred together, each one slower than the last, with memories of her former self fading like the light beyond her window. There wasn’t a single second, of a single day that she did not struggle.

That evening, as she wheeled herself into the bathroom, something peculiar happened. Her reflection stared back at her, but there was something different, a spark in the eyes that caught her off guard. As she reached for her brush, the reflection tilted its head slightly and asked, “Have we met before?”

Hannah blinked. Her heart skipped. “What?”

The reflection didn’t repeat itself, but Hannah felt something stirring deep inside her. She leaned in closer, peering at the woman in the mirror. At first, it was her. Tired, worry lines showing the years, and familiar gray streaks in her hair. But with each blink, the image shifted. The reflection seemed younger, full of life and purpose, a glimmer of hope lighting her eyes. It was a version of herself that she barely even remembered.

She exhaled sharply. When was the last time I felt like that? She searched the hope-filled eyes, craving to feel it again, if only for a moment. She suddenly flushed with anger and felt like confronting the reflection. The anger dissolved as quickly as it came, and Hannah felt empathetic tears burn her eyes as she knew the road that lay ahead. She knew what would crush the hope in the reflections eyes.

The mirror rippled gently, like water that had been disturbed by a stone. The woman staring back was no longer the hopeful dreamer. This time, her face was tight with fear, her eyes shadowed by the weight of despair. This version of Hannah had just received the diagnosis, her world crashing down as the doctor’s words echoed in her ears. She remembered the feeling… the suffocating panic, the endless questions about what would become of her life, her body, her dreams. That woman, trapped by fear, had prayed for an escape.

Hannah’s chest tightened as the vision of that despairing self faded. She thought back to that day, and the following year. She had no knowledge of MS, and she recalled her crash course in the chronic illness. Not all paths led to disability, she remembered bitterly, her fingertips tapping on her wheelchair. She was diagnosed relapsing-remitting, it would be many years later that she would graduate to the dreaded primary progressive MS. The image shifted again.

Now, she saw herself with fierce determination in her eyes, years later. She was leaning into her new reality, learning to adapt. This Hannah was stubborn, refusing to give in to the disease, seeking new ways to chase fulfillment. She continued working, playing tennis and biking. She was in full remission, and had begun to question whether she was misdiagnosed. 

Hannah shook her head in disbelief. ‘Was I arrogant, or naive?’ She whispered. She continued to watch the reflection fade into the Hannah of five years ago. Still hopeful and independent.

Her hands gripped the wheelchair as though it were an extension of her will, not her prison. She remembered the hope that had filled her then, the courage to keep pushing despite the growing limitations. She refused to give up. She painted each day, wrote when she was felt compelled. She drove her car fitted with hand controls, smiled and laughed each day. This Hannah had accepted her life, and considered it to be quirky.

Yet, as that version vanished, the next one appeared…another woman entirely. Her reflection now looked older, defeated, slumped in the wheelchair. Her eyes were hollow, and there was no fight left in them. This version of herself had long surrendered, accepting that the world had moved on without her. Days had become survival, not living. These eyes welled with tears and were so painfully lonely that Hannah turned away from the mirror, overwhelmed. These fragments of herself, all locked inside her, felt like strangers. How could she be all of them at once…the dreamer, the skeptic, the warrior, the woman who gave up? And which one was truly her?

She wheeled back to the window, watching the fading colors of the sunset disappearing into the blue black sky, but her mind was still in that mirror. The question echoed in her mind. ‘Have we met before?’

A voice deep within her whispered that the answer wasn’t in one version of herself, but in all of them. She had known every face she saw. She had been each one at different moments. The dreamer, the despairing woman, the fighter, the one who had let go…they were all part of her journey, none of them permanent. 

Hannah turned back to the mirror. Slowly, she wheeled closer until her eyes met her reflection again. This time, she recognized herself. She was older, yes, but still here. Her hands were numb, her legs weak, but the heart within her, that had been broken by MS, endured. The core of who she was hadn't completely disappeared… it had simply changed, shaped by each and every stage of her life.

In the silence of that moment, she smiled, a quiet resolve settling in her chest. She had met herself before. Many times. And in every one of those meetings, she had found something new, something worth holding onto. Her life hadn’t lost meaning, it simply meant something different now. 

Hannah reached up, touched her reflection, and whispered, “I’m still here.”