The Mirror Exercise
(Bonus Post)
Four weeks ago, I started a series called Becoming a Better Version of Yourself.
Week one: the lunch metaphor — how we unconsciously lock our dreams away like they’re in a steel safe, and then wonder why they’re not showing up.
Week two: how we treat the people we love — and why it’s somehow harder to be kind to them than to complete strangers.
Week three: the half-empty glass — how we walk around narrating our lives like something is always missing.
And last week: the darkest, most uncomfortable one. That quiet little voice that whispers yeah, I hope it doesn’t work out too well for them. The one we pretend we don’t have.
If you haven’t read the previous four posts, I genuinely suggest you do before continuing — not because this won’t make sense without them, but because each piece matters. This bonus post is the glue. And glue works best when there’s something to hold together.
Okay. Here we go.
Go stand in front of a mirror.
Somewhere you’re alone. No distractions. Good lighting.
And look.
I mean really look. Maintain eye contact with yourself. This is the most important part of the whole exercise — I’ll probably say it five more times, and I mean it every time.
Here’s a little reframe that helps me: think of the person looking back at you as your lookalike from a different reality. A parallel universe version of you. See what they have to tell you.
You don’t have to smile. But please don’t sulk either.
Now — greet them. However feels natural to you. I usually extend my hand like a complete weirdo and say, “Hi, I’m Lynn” and then give a small smile. Yes, to my own reflection. Yes, out loud. Yes, it felt ridiculous the first time. Do it anyway.
Step one: Gratitude.
Not the “list five things” kind you write in a journal and forget about. I want you to talk like it’s a conversation.
I had such a good lunch today, I’m genuinely grateful for that. I was able to focus while studying this morning — that felt really good. I slept well last night.
The small things count. Actually, the small things are the whole point. Because when you’re in the habit of being grateful for your lunch, being grateful for bigger things starts to feel a lot more natural.
Maintain eye contact while you do this.
Step two: Love.
People you love. Tiny things that made you happy today. The cat that sat near you. The message a friend sent. The fact that your mom called.
Keep looking at yourself while you say it. It matters.
Step three: This is the hard one.
Remember last week’s post? The part about not wanting people to succeed too much?
This is where we deal with that.
I want you to think of every person for whom you’ve ever felt that quiet, uncomfortable I hope it doesn’t go too well for them. And then — out loud, to yourself in the mirror — say the opposite.
I genuinely hope Millie gets the job she’s been working for. I hope she’s really happy in her relationship.
And here’s the non-negotiable: you have to mean it. Not perform it. Mean it. This isn’t a script. This is you choosing, consciously, to want good things for people even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially then.
This is the part where my voice cracked the first time I did it. Tears and everything. Which was deeply embarrassing and also deeply necessary.
Because what you’re doing in this moment isn’t just being generous toward others. You’re freeing yourself from the weight of that quiet, exhausting scorekeeping.
Step four: Your future self — right now.
Tell the person in the mirror how lucky you are.
You’re doing work you love. (Even if you don’t have the job yet.) You have more than enough. (Even if you’re currently broke.) You look great. (And here — really look. Find the things you actually like. Focus there, not on the insecurities.)
You get the idea.
This isn’t delusion. This is practicing the feeling of having what you want, before it arrives — which, if you remember the lunch metaphor, is exactly how belief is supposed to work.
End with a thank you. To yourself, to life, to whatever feels right.
The whole thing can be five minutes or ten. In the beginning, it will feel a little cringey. You’ll say a lot of ummm and uhhhh. You’ll forget what comes next. You’ll feel slightly unhinged talking to your own reflection in your bathroom at 9pm.
That’s all fine. That’s all part of it.
I speak out loud to myself regularly. I do goofy things in front of the mirror. And yet, I cried — which, for the record, I did not see coming the first time.
Try it for seven days.
I’m not going to promise your life will transform overnight. But I will tell you this: after I stopped doing it for a while, things felt noticeably duller. Quieter in a bad way. The exercise had been doing something I hadn’t fully noticed until it was gone.
Why does this work?
Because you’re not talking to your reflection. You’re talking to your inner self — the part of you that’s buried under the noise of comparison and self-criticism and the endless to-do list of becoming better.
That part of you doesn’t get acknowledged very often. It rarely gets gratitude, or love, or genuine good wishes for others, or permission to believe that good things are already on their way.
The mirror exercise is just a way of finally giving it that.
The aim isn’t transformation in a week. The aim is to acknowledge what’s already inside you, air it out a little, and slowly — over time — make it feel safe enough to grow.
This is what the whole series has been pointing at.
Not a perfect mindset. Not flawless discipline. Not toxic positivity.
Just you. Standing in front of a mirror. Being honest with yourself. Wanting good things for the people you love. Believing — even slightly, even shakily — that good things are coming for you too.
That’s it. That’s the whole project.
P.S. My two biggest inspirations for starting this Substack? The Good Place — for teaching me that people are genuinely trying to be better, even when they’re failing spectacularly — and maybe little of Modern Family, for making real, messy, human moments feel worth celebrating. If this series felt like either of those things, even a little, I’m really glad.
Thank you for reading all five weeks. Genuinely. It means more than you know. 🤍
And if you’re new here — welcome. The previous posts are waiting for you. Start from week one. You’ll thank yourself later.
Will try this