The night is the owl’s treasure
And the cuckoo’s ruin.

Normality,
A tree with ever-branching limbs,
A cradle for butterflies
With wandering desires.

The cat laughs
At the arrogance of the owl
Who mocks the cuckoo’s misfortune,
While he himself
Fades before the cheerfulness of day.

And they,
They mock the cat’s pretension,
Divided among a thousand hunts.

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Odel’s Note

Thank you for reading. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. I always enjoy reading them and joining the conversation.

I’d also like to ask for your support. Consider becoming a paid subscriber to receive each Monthly Clarity Guide as part of your subscription.

And if you’d like to see what that means before making that choice, this month’s guide is yours for free on Gumroad. Consider it a gesture of good faith—and a better way to show you what you’ll receive each month than words alone.

August's Monthly GUIDE

Thank you. Your support is deeply appreciated.

With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

Here is a situation that is very familiar to me. When I am writing, when I am working, or even when I am simply enjoying a hobby, sometimes a new message appears. Sometimes from my parents, sometimes from a friend. And in that moment, I simply tell myself: I’ll reply later. That “later” is not supposed to be long. A few minutes. Maybe an hour. For a routine message, it seems like it can wait.

Then days pass. Sometimes even weeks. I receive another message from that same person, or their name crosses my mind, and I wonder why I haven’t heard from them. So I pick up my phone, scroll back through our conversations… and realize that I completely forgot to reply to the first message.

The result is that many people end up thinking I am insensitive, disrespectful, ungrateful, maybe even a bad person. But I am not, at least not toward them. I respect my friends and family. I want to see them doing well, happy. But this habit has often created distance between us.

There are so many things we neglect because, in the moment, they seem too small, too exhausting, or simply “not urgent.” Yet, as they accumulate, they become problems. Something that would have cost two dollars ends up costing twenty.

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And very often, the exact same thing happens with our emotions. Some of what we feel—especially the feelings we call “bad”—we prefer to avoid. In the moment, it seems like the best decision. But avoiding a problem… does it really mean that the problem is no longer there?

I grew up in a community that taught us to avoid emotions that were too strong. We were often told not to let ourselves be carried away by anger, rage, or hatred. These feelings can destroy. And that is not wrong. Strong emotions can lead us to acts of madness that we eventually regret.

My uncle often told me how he almost ended up in prison because of jealousy. He had a girlfriend he saw regularly. They did not live together, but they could spend the night at each other’s place whenever they wanted.

One night, he was at her place and was supposed to stay there for the night. Then he remembered something he had to do early in the morning. He got up and went home. When he arrived, he realized that he had forgotten something at the woman’s place. Nothing urgent, but since he had not gone to bed yet, he got back in the car.

When he arrived at her place, he found her with another man. Jealousy rose immediately, bringing anger with it. He left without saying anything. The next day, he questioned her at work. She denied everything. Overcome by anger, he hit her violently. So violently that she could not finish her workday.

He told me that it hurt him as much as it hurt her. He felt ashamed. Since that day, he prefers to quietly walk away rather than let anger guide him.

He often told me this story to make me understand that I should never let my emotions carry me so far that I do something I might regret.

Around us, we often see people who let themselves be carried away by their emotions and do things they eventually regret. Not always as dramatic as what my uncle experienced. But actions serious enough to damage a reputation.

As children, my parents and grandparents used these stories to tell us not to “end up like those people.”

The wisdom of avoidance comes from the fear of what strong emotions can cause. When we let ourselves be carried away and express them in the wrong way, they can cause damage, especially around us. They often hurt the people closest to us. They can also damage our reputation, make us look ridiculous in the eyes of others.

At work, I see it often. At Amazon Grocery, most people do not like working in the cold room where certain products like milk, meat, cheese, etc. are kept. Many find it unfair or unacceptable, especially when a manager assigns them to that section because of the amount of work.

One of my flex coworkers particularly hates that section. One day, he came in motivated, ready for his shift. The first thing the manager told him was to go work in the cold room. He was so upset that he got angry and went home without working. To justify himself, he told me emotionally: “He has no right to send me to the cold room like that.”

The reality is that yes, the manager does have that right. But I said nothing. I simply smiled.

The next day, my coworker came back. The same manager sent him directly to the cold room once again. This time, he stayed. He complained, but he did his job. I did not try to understand why he had changed his attitude. But all his protesting from the day before seemed pointless to me. How could I take him seriously after that?

There are also other unhappy coworkers. We see them, we hear them complain about the freezing temperature. We can feel their frustration. But they hold themselves back. They do not allow themselves to react too strongly; they do not want to attract attention.

But can we really say that they are managing their emotions, or are they simply holding them in? Their frustration is visible, almost palpable, but they do not rebel. They do not let themselves be carried away by those feelings of frustration. Why?

I could not say. Everyone has their own way of managing their emotions. But is it the right way? Are they doing it with the right mindset?

Perhaps some people avoid expressing their emotions because they fear the consequences. A poorly placed reaction can cost a lot, sometimes even a job. But the real question lies elsewhere: Do they really know how to express them properly? Do they understand the root of what they are feeling?

A lack of understanding always leads to poor expression. And poor expression creates damage, often unintended, often regrettable. I believe that is why, in our communities, we are taught to avoid falling under the control of our emotions.

In the Bible, there are many verses that encourage us to distance ourselves from feelings considered negative. We could summarize a few of them:

1️⃣ “Refrain from anger and turn from wrath.” — Psalm 37:8
2️⃣ “Get rid of anger and hostility.” — Colossians 3:8
3️⃣ “Let all anger and bitterness disappear.” — Ephesians 4:31
4️⃣ “Reject envy.” — 1 Peter 2:1
5️⃣ “Flee the passions of youth.” — 2 Timothy 2:22

I grew up in a Christian community. I started at the age of fourteen. I was naive, sensitive, and I took everything to heart. I did not question the teachings of the Bible. I still believe in them, firmly. Most of my principles come from those Scriptures.

The real problem, for me, was understanding and interpretation.

In some cases, I came to believe that I was not allowed to feel certain emotions: anger, jealousy, hatred, revenge, ambition, pride, selfishness… All those feelings were considered bad in my head.

At one point, I felt ashamed of myself every time a hint of one of those emotions appeared. I pushed them away immediately. I chased them away, without ever taking the time to question or understand them.

I believe this is a common practice in religious communities. And, in my opinion, a necessary one.

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Why?

Religious people—Christians or followers of any other belief—are still human. They experience emotions too. They can feel anger, and some people sometimes have every reason in the world to feel hatred or even a desire for revenge.

Nevertheless, because of our inability to control ourselves sometimes when we are under the influence of strong emotions, it is often better to chase them away without even thinking about them. It is for the good of the community. If we cannot understand and manage these emotions, keeping them within us becomes dangerous.

Anger, jealousy, fear, pride, selfishness, ambition… When they are misunderstood and poorly nurtured, these feelings can lead to the destruction of a community, or even an entire country.

That is why I understand—and respect—the teaching of emotional avoidance. Within a community, it is important, sometimes even necessary.

Do not give in to anger.
Do not feed emotions that can become destructive within your family, your home, your environment.

The wisdom of avoidance exists to preserve unity, harmony, and peace within a group.

But… does that mean strong emotions actually disappear?

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The Limits of the Wisdom of Avoidance

If, for the community, this wisdom is important—sometimes even fundamental—I think that on a personal level, it remains limited.

When we are talking with someone, or when we are in a group, it is wise to hold back our emotions, to suppress them if necessary, to avoid saying or doing something we might regret later.

It is essential to remain calm and express yourself clearly. If you let yourself be carried away by anger, even if you are right and you are raising important issues, most people will not listen to you. Some will even use your anger to ignore your words or discredit your concerns.

In public, it is better to silence certain emotions. To suppress them. But it should not stop there. Suppressing them does not erase them. Suppressing them does not resolve them.

Suppressing them is good for the public. But for the individual, it is dangerous. It is a silent accumulation, like a bomb ready to explode at the slightest impact.

Sometimes we avoid an emotion entirely. Other times, we feel it but suppress its expression. Both can protect us from acting impulsively in the moment. But neither necessarily resolves what we feel.

As Carl Gustav Jung, a Swiss psychiatrist and one of the major figures of modern psychology, said:
“Unexpressed emotion never dies. It is buried alive and will come back later in uglier ways.”

I would put it differently: a suppressed and misunderstood emotion never dies. It is simply silenced. And it always ends up finding a darker way to reveal itself.

A person who hides their hatred—religious or not—becomes a bitter hypocrite.
Suppressed anger turns into bitterness.
Suppressed jealousy becomes poison.

And when we become too used to avoiding and then suffocating our emotions, our inner life becomes like a maze. The feelings remain there, hidden in a corner, and can emerge at any moment, often in dark and unexpected ways.

I would say that the wisdom of avoidance is important, sometimes even essential, for the community. But for the individual, it is incomplete. Because hiding a wound does not heal it. It needs to be treated.

And to deal with our emotions, the first step is simple: we need to start by welcoming them.

to be continued…

Mirror Question:

What happens to your emotions after you choose not to express them?

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Odel’s Note

Thank you for reading. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. I always enjoy reading them and joining the conversation.

I’d also like to ask for your support. Consider becoming a paid subscriber to receive each Monthly Clarity Guide as part of your subscription.

And if you’d like to see what that means before making that choice, this month’s guide is yours for free on Gumroad. Consider it a gesture of good faith—and a better way to show you what you’ll receive each month than words alone.

August's Monthly GUIDE

Thank you. Your support is deeply appreciated.

With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

I flee the waves of the night,
As one flees a wounded, ferocious animal.

The sound of its footsteps terrifies me.

I learned to avoid them
By running before I had even learned to walk.

“Run, run,
Don’t look it in the eyes.”

I ignored its tears,
Mistaking them for the rain
I was always taught to avoid.

But who would want to arrive soaking wet
At society’s ball?

INCOMPLETE

For wasn’t the rain I kept running from
The only thing that could show me
The leaks in the roof of my own home?

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Note for The Room

Thank you for reading. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. I always enjoy reading them and joining the conversation.

I’d also like to ask for your support. Consider becoming a paid subscriber to receive each Monthly Clarity Guide as part of your subscription.

And if you’d like to see what that means before making that choice, this month’s guide is yours for free on Gumroad. Consider it a gesture of good faith—and a better way to show you what you’ll receive each month than words alone.

August's Monthly GUIDE

Thank you. Your support is deeply appreciated.

With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

During a short conversation with a coworker about investing, I realized a simple truth. It surprised me and made me think.

A person’s life is a cradle of emotions. They come and go without us even paying attention to them. If you asked a thousand people how many emotions they felt in a single day, how many would be able to give an exact number?

I was telling my coworker—and I quote myself:

“It is okay to be afraid. It shows that we are at an important moment in our lives, but we should not let fear control us.”

And to encourage him, considering his Christian faith, I added:

“Even Jesus had known fear once, and he still accomplished his mission.”

He answered almost immediately, without hesitation:

“I have never heard that Jesus was afraid. He had doubts, yes, but I don’t believe he ever felt fear.”

(This is not a text about theology)

I wanted to defend my position, but I could not really do it. I answered something, of course, but deep down, I realized my own ignorance.

And a question came to my mind: What is fear? And what about doubt?

Of course, I know how to recognize fear and doubt when I feel them, or when I observe them in others. But at that moment, I could not find the words to clearly define them.

We constantly experience emotions: joy, sadness, fear, doubt… It is natural for a human being, so natural that we almost never stop to ask ourselves:

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What is an emotion?

In the dictionary, an emotion is defined as an immediate reaction of the body or mind to an event or situation.

It is brief, spontaneous, and often very visible, because it can cause laughter, trembling, or even a form of paralysis. But some emotions are silent too.

I would say that an emotion is like a rush of adrenaline, or like the energy drinks I take to stay awake at work. It is temporary, but in the moment, it can cause many things—good or harmful. It depends on how we welcome it or how we manage it in that moment.

And as Aristotle said so well: “Emotions are the engines of the soul.”

With a good engine, we can go far, moving peacefully along the roads of life. But if we do not take care of that engine, it can quickly become a nightmare.

Very often, an emotion is the beginning of a feeling.

Or, to put it another way, a feeling is often an emotion prolonged and interpreted by thought.

Emotion comes from reflex; feeling comes from memory and the meaning we give to that emotion.

For example, when something scares us, the body and mind react immediately. Then a feeling of insecurity can settle in, as an extension of that first fear.

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The Nature of Emotions

A statement from a philosopher I discovered late—Baruch Spinoza, a 17th-century thinker known for his rational view of human passions—clearly resonates with one of my beliefs. He said:

“An emotion is neither good nor bad in itself; it becomes destructive only when it dominates reason.”

I often say that no system is either good or bad. I believe the same applies to our emotions. No emotion, then, is good or bad in itself. Whether it is gentle, tender, or intense, an emotion has no will of its own and no predetermined benevolent or harmful nature.

Take love, for example. We consider it a “good” feeling. The emotions that come from it seem wonderful: attractive, powerful, comforting. When we hear “love,” we usually think of well-being, peace, safety… And yet, some forms of love can hurt.

I know one of my aunts who loves her children so deeply that she refuses to see them suffer. She does everything she can to protect them from the difficulties of life. She spoils them and tolerates their behavior in a way that I find irresponsible—but that is only my opinion. She gives them everything they want without hesitation. She sacrifices herself, empties her savings to make them happy. Taking care of your children is a responsibility, of course. But preparing a child for the realities of the world is just as important. What will happen when she is no longer there to protect them?

If she cooks and the children do not like the food, she gives them money to buy whatever they prefer. In my home, it was different: if you were not allergic and refused to eat, you went to bed hungry. Our parents often reminded us that food did not fall from the sky. They worked to provide it.

And I believe that when we cover a child with too much protective love, we eventually take away their sense of the value of things: the value of effort, the value of others, the value of work, the value of money… and many others. Haven’t you heard stories from people who say they wish their parents had been a little stricter when they were young?

Overprotective love—as pure and sincere as it may be—can eventually hurt the person we love. And there are other forms of love that can be just as suffocating.

A man or woman who loves someone and wants to control everything, who watches the other person, who gets carried away by jealousy… How many people are abused or even killed in the name of love?

I am vindictive. I don’t fight—I find it too exhausting. I get revenge. When I say that revenge is sacred and that it can be a good thing in itself, the response I hear most often is that we should not hold grudges, that we need to learn to forgive, to let go, so we do not condemn our lives because of other people.

Revenge is generally seen as something negative. We imagine that it comes from hatred. From anger or disappointment, yes, but from hatred, not always. The best revenge, for me, is succeeding where others wanted me to fail, accomplishing what people mocked me for, getting what I was denied. It is a feeling born from my anger, my disappointment, and sometimes my sadness. But I do not feel hatred toward anyone. Or perhaps that “hatred” is simply my memory, the reminder that pushes me to take revenge in this way.

It reminds me of a line from Youssoupha, in Le jour où j’ai arrêté le rap: “Thank you to those who refused to help me; they helped me do things by myself.” I find this line deeply true.

Love, considered a “good” feeling, when expressed poorly, can become destructive. On the other hand, revenge born from anger, sadness, or disappointment, seen as “bad,” can become a motivating force that helps us reach our goals.

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Mirror Question:

Which emotion have you always considered “bad”—and what has it actually done in your life?

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Support’s Note

Thank you for reading. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. I always enjoy reading them and joining the conversation.

I’d also like to ask for your support. Consider becoming a paid subscriber to receive each Monthly Clarity Guide as part of your subscription.

And if you’d like to see what that means before making that choice, this month’s guide is yours for free on Gumroad. Consider it a gesture of good faith—and a better way to show you what you’ll receive each month than words alone.

August's Monthly GUIDE

Thank you. Your support is deeply appreciated.

With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

Ah, faithful companion,
You, yes you, sly spirit,
How long have we known each other?
How long have we walked side by side?

Tell me, faithful companion,
My memory falters,
Time has not spared me—
Tell me, how long have you been here?

My companion, my companion,
In your arms, you gently hold me,
Not to comfort me… but to suffocate me.
Haven’t you had enough of haunting me?

Dear companion,
You disappear when all is well,
When peace reigns within my heart,
When joy and fleeting vanities come to visit.

Oh companion,
Why are you only here on my darkest nights,
When my conscience eats away at me,
And my dreams begin to feel like lies?

Why, dear companion?
Sometimes, I feel you drifting away,
My heart suddenly grows lighter…
Then you return, once more, like a trail of snow.

You, dear companion,
Do you not wish me happiness?
Am I your best customer? Your soulmate?
A role I painfully refuse.

So, companion,
Why won’t you understand?
Why do you keep coming back,
Never listening to me?

You, my frustration,
Companion through so many seasons,
Can’t you feel my weariness?
Little by little, my heart breaks free from your servitude.

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🪞 Mirror Question

Who is the “faithful companion” that tends to visit you on your bad days?

Leave a comment

Thank you for reading. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. I always enjoy reading them and joining the conversation.

I’d also like to ask for your support. Consider becoming a paid subscriber to receive each Monthly Clarity Guide as part of your subscription.

And if you’d like to see what that means before making that choice, this month’s guide is yours for free on Gumroad. Consider it a gesture of good faith—and a better way to show you what you’ll receive each month than words alone.

August's Monthly GUIDE

Thank you. Your support is deeply appreciated.

With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

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Many people say anime is for children. At one point, I believed that too, and I love anime. It is one of my favorite hobbies. Because of that, I used to feel ashamed to talk about it publicly. But not anymore.

Because through reflection, and in my journey of personal development, I discovered that there are many life lessons in anime.

There are lines like: “When you attack, you need to put your will into it, a spiritual dimension.”

A line from Bleach that teaches us that everything in life begins in the mind. No matter how strong the body is, if the mind is weak, the body will be too.

How many times do we feel too weak to accomplish a task, yet for other things, even after spending an entire day working without rest, we somehow find the strength to keep going?

That strength comes from our will, from the mind.

We can also see this in people who know why they do what they do. Someone driven by a spiritual force, like making their parents proud, protecting their loved ones, etc., will not show the same strength as someone who is simply trying to survive from one day to the next.

In everything we do, it is important to bring a spiritual dimension to it, to prepare the mind first, and the body will find the energy it needs to accomplish the task.

There are so many other lessons that some anime teach us. About the value of family, friendship, romantic relationships, life, etc.

In this text, I talk a little about anime because what I want to share in these reflections is real, and I would like to use a lesson from an anime to explain it.

“How do we manage our emotions?”

How do we face them without letting them consume us?

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It is a lesson from the animated series Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Fans will know what I am talking about, of course.

For those who are not familiar with it, I will get straight to the point. There is no need to explain the story or anything else that is not necessary. Let’s stay with what matters.

While learning a technique to redirect lightning through the body, Zuko heard these words of wisdom from his uncle, Iroh:

“If you let the energy in your own body flow, the lightning will follow it. You must create a pathway from your fingertips, up your arm to your shoulder, then down into your stomach. The stomach is the source of energy in your body. It is called the sea of chi. From your stomach, you direct it up again and out the other arm. The stomach detour is critical. You must never let the lightning pass through your heart, or the damage could be deadly.”

Lightning is a powerful, terrifying element, and it can be destructive. Imagine letting it pass through your body and using it to strike an enemy. Of course, in the animated series, such a feat is possible.

If in real life we are still incapable of such a feat, the lesson here can still help us learn how to manage our emotions. Not control them, or simply suppress them. But manage them, learn how to let them flow safely, without fear of causing damage around us.

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Many people claim to have control over their emotions, while others say they cannot control them.

But do we really need to control our emotions?

I think that rather than controlling them, we need to learn how to manage them responsibly and constructively.

I know it is easier said than done. And we often ask the question: How do we do it? How can I learn to manage my emotions well?

If I base myself on Iroh’s lesson to Zuko, I would say there are several steps: welcome, observe, channel, transform, release.

These steps, along with the beliefs we inherit through our different communities, are what this text explores.

And I want to repeat, as I do in each of my reflections: this is an invitation to reflect and grow together. There is no absolute truth in these lines.

In the end, we can each learn something. Maybe we will not learn the same thing, and that is okay.

But I hope that each of us learns a lesson that resonates with who we truly are.

This essay argues that no emotion is bad in itself. Everything depends on what we do with it—and that sometimes, welcoming an emotion is the only way to truly disarm it.

To be continued…

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Mirror Question:

When a strong emotion rises within you, what is your first instinct—to welcome it, control it, hide it, or push it away?

Leave a comment

Thank you for reading. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. I always enjoy reading them and joining the conversation.

I’d also like to ask for your support. Consider becoming a paid subscriber to receive each Monthly Clarity Guide as part of your subscription.

And if you’d like to see what that means before making that choice, this month’s guide is yours for free on Gumroad. Consider it a gesture of good faith—and a better way to show you what you’ll receive each month than words alone.

August's Monthly GUIDE

Thank you. Your support is deeply appreciated.

With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

A whole being,
A heart balanced
Between beauty
And danger.

A divided being,
Often admired
For its beauty,
And judged
For its dangerous side.

A tormented being,
Revealing only half of itself,
Forced to choose
Between a smile
And vulnerability.

Troubles of the mind,
Doses of euphoria,
An endless dance,
Like the cycle of day and night.

A whole being,
Yet never whole.
Praised for what is pleasant,
Prey to unwanted waves.

We live within a whole nature,
Bearing summer as it bears winter.
Everything around us is complete,
Everything carries an abstract balance.

The rose, sublime beauty,
Capable of wounding too.
Fire, warmth and light,
And a relentless destroyer.

Without peril,
Nature would be bland.

Would the lion be admired
Without its ferocity?
Without its fangs,
Would it still be as beautiful?

Splendor,
A balance of beauty
And danger.
The cycle of a beating heart.

The rose offers its thorn to the eye,
The ocean cradles its daring wave,
Fire burns as fiercely as it shines,
The lion roars without apology.

A whole being.

Unapologetic!

I feel, therefore, I live.

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Thank you for reading. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. I always enjoy reading them and joining the conversation.

I’d also like to ask for your support. Consider becoming a paid subscriber to receive each Monthly Clarity Guide as part of your subscription.

And if you’d like to see what that means before making that choice, this month’s guide is yours for free on Gumroad. Consider it a gesture of good faith—and a better way to show you what you’ll receive each month than words alone.

August's Monthly GUIDE

Thank you. Your support is deeply appreciated.

With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

Growing up with my grandparents, I fell victim to this wisdom many times. The person who asked was sometimes the one who got served last. Sometimes, even if something was meant for you, if you asked for it and insisted too much, well, it might be given to someone else.

One thing was clear: you weren’t supposed to ask.

You had to be patient and wait for others to offer you something, and they expected the same from you.

Summer is avocado season, and we had plenty of them at my grandparents’ house. There were all kinds, some more appreciated than others. I remember one time my little brother found one from a tree that rarely produced fruit, but when it did, the avocados were always really good. So he ate it without really thinking about sharing it with anyone.

After he finished eating it, my grandmother complained.

“Hmm, you ate that whole avocado and didn’t even offer me a little piece?!” she said, sounding shocked.

My little brother replied, “There are avocados everywhere. You could’ve just told me you wanted some of mine.”

“Merite pa mande,” she replied.

My little brother was right. There were so many avocados that we couldn’t even eat them all. At that time of year, you almost never shared an avocado. But my little brother’s avocado was rarer, so everyone appreciated it more.

My grandmother wanted some, but prisoner to that old wisdom, she didn’t dare ask.

It’s a bit of a twisted saying, if you ask me.

Today, I understand that this saying may carry a different kind of wisdom from the one I took from it as a child. But whatever its original intention may have been, the lesson I learned from it was much simpler:

Don’t ask.

Because asking almost felt like a sin.

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Why am I telling you this?

Simply to say that asking for something has never been one of my strengths. Even though I now understand this saying differently, I still sometimes carry the old psychological chains of my childhood.

Asking makes me uncomfortable.

So instead, I put in extra effort, hoping other people would recognize the value of what I do.

It’s the same pattern I’ve repeated with The Mirror Room.

It’s true that I want my writing to remain accessible to everyone, but I would also like to earn something from my writing. I put my heart, my time, and all my attention into it. I create guides, experiment with new concepts, and then publish them, hoping the right people will find them.

And looking at the results, I can recognize that this isn’t a sustainable strategy.

Before, I was mainly juggling work and writing. Now, there are my studies too, along with more responsibilities. I had to take a little step back to breathe, but more importantly, to think about how I want to continue this journey, because The Mirror Room means a great deal to me.

I can’t simply keep producing more and more writing while staying silent and hoping people will eventually invest in what I create.

It’s not because I think my readers don’t want to support my work or don’t find value in it.

Far from it.

I simply came to understand something pretty obvious: when we say nothing, people can easily assume everything is fine.

They often say no news is good news.

And sometimes, people would be perfectly willing to support us, but they can’t know we need their support if we never tell them.

It’s even written in the Bible:

“Ask, and it will be given to you.”

So this time, I’m asking.

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Whether you’ve been following The Mirror Room for a while or you’ve just arrived, if the writing I share here brings you a little clarity, if it resonates with you, helps you understand yourself differently, or offers you new perspectives, I invite you to support this work.

The best way to support this work is by getting the Monthly Guide.

Each month, I transform the themes we explore in The Mirror Room into a personal development workbook: a guided journey made of reflections, exercises, and practices designed to help you explore these ideas in your own life.

This month, we explored two subjects that may seem very different at first: the freedom to choose for ourselves and the stories we carry about others.

But when we look more closely, both bring us back to the same idea:

the freedom to be yourself—and to give others that same freedom.

So I redesigned the workbook around two guided journeys.

The first invites you to recognize the choices and expectations you inherited, distinguish between what you simply follow and what you genuinely choose, and then practice the act of choosing for yourself.

The second turns the mirror toward others: the stories we’ve learned about certain groups, the assumptions that can grow from those stories, and the possibility of allowing the individual to show us who they actually are.

This isn’t simply a compilation of the reflections published throughout the month. It’s a journey designed to help you take these ideas and explore them in your own life.

You can get the workbook directly on Gumroad as an individual purchase, or become a paid subscriber to The Mirror Room. Paid subscribers can get each new workbook for half price on Gumroad.

For a long time, I believed that doing good work, continuing to create, and waiting for people to recognize its value would be enough.

Today, I’m trying something different.

I’m asking.

This month, however, I’m not going to ask you to buy it.

I want to give it to you.

I’ve completely redesigned the format of my Monthly Guides, and rather than asking you to believe me when I tell you they’re worth your investment, I’d rather give you the opportunity to experience one for yourself.

Starting with the next Monthly Guide, each workbook will be available individually for $30 on Gumroad.

Paid subscribers to The Mirror Room, at $15 per month, will receive a code each month allowing them to download the new guide for free. In other words, it will be included with their subscription.

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A Little Note Before I Go

Starting next week, The Mirror Room will return to its usual rhythm.

Poetry on Sundays, a reflection during the week, and one Monthly Clarity Guide each month.

And now that one journey is ending, I’ve been thinking about where we should go next.

I have two ideas for the next series.

The first is emotions—how we experience them, the way we respond to them, what they may be trying to tell us, and the relationship we develop with our own feelings.

The second would be a series of reflexions built around a book: reading through its ideas together, reflecting on what resonates, questioning what doesn’t, and exploring how some of those ideas show up in our own lives.

I have to admit, I’m leaning toward emotions. There are already a few things I want to explore there.

But The Mirror Room isn’t only about what I want to examine. I’m curious about what you would like us to explore together next.

So I’ll leave the choice with you:

Where should we turn the mirror next?

❤️ Emotions

or

📖 A Book

Let me know in the comments. I’ll be reading.

Until next week.

With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

In that sense, the system of stereotypes, while both universal and comforting, traps us within an incomplete view of reality.

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Warnings, Not Verdicts

That said, I do not believe stereotypes are entirely bad.

I would love to say that stereotypes are simply harmful and should be forgotten. Unfortunately, we do not live in a perfect world. We live in a world shaped by bias and constantly influenced by the countless stories circulating around us every day.

Because of that, I believe we should treat stories born from our interpretations of reality as warnings, even when we are the ones who experienced the original event.

As identity compasses, stereotypes give us a broad picture of the world around us. They provide a general orientation. But they never define any individual person.

As a Black man living in the United States, I avoid keeping my face hidden under a hood or keeping my hands out of sight. If I have to walk through a dark area, I make a point of keeping my hands visible and moving calmly. I do not expect my life to be in danger every moment, but I know that I can sometimes be perceived as suspicious and become the victim of violence.

My grandmother used to tell us:

“Lè marengwen ap vole, ou pa konn sak mal ni sak femèl.”

(”When mosquitoes are flying, you don’t know which one is male nor which one is female.”)

I know very well that danger is not waiting for me around every corner, and I am not saying that neighborhoods here are inherently violent. But we cannot deny that some people have lost their lives simply because of their appearance or the way they moved.

I adjust my behavior accordingly, but that does not mean I believe this is something common everywhere in the United States.

Choosing Curiosity

This is only one example among many of how stereotypes can be used as warnings. We can learn from the stories we have inherited and choose how to behave in a general situation in order to reduce the risk of unpleasant experiences, even if those experiences are relatively unlikely.

When I meet someone, I may have a general idea of that person’s culture or social identity based on where they come from. But I never allow that idea to define the person.

It is true that every group is preceded by stories. But if we stripped away all the stories we have been told about one another, what would remain?

Perhaps nothing more than strangers. Human beings no longer trying to confirm what they already believe, but instead try to discover who is truly standing before them.

When we observe children as they grow, we see that they are driven by curiosity. Every new discovery leads them to ask questions and, whenever possible, to experience things for themselves.

In general, a child gradually begins to take a position as they become aware of the stereotypes that exist around them. They hear the stories, and little by little they begin to adopt a perspective. That perspective can eventually lead to racism, discrimination, and prejudice. But with a deeper level of personal understanding, it can also become an opportunity to embrace diversity.

We live in a global world. We constantly meet people with different backgrounds and different perspectives. Every person carries a story, and every culture comes with stories that precede it.

Whether a story contains some truth or not, it is never enough to understand an individual. I believe we should instead treat every story as a warning, not as an unquestionable truth carved in stone.

There may always be racists, oppressors, aggressors, criminals, and people with harmful intentions. But those are not characteristics of a particular race or group. They are unfortunately part of human behaviors.

As a Black man, I may still encounter racist White people, and I inherited those stereotypes from my own community. But I do not automatically assume that every White person is racist. At the same time, I am not naïve. When I meet someone from a different racial background for the first time, my goal is to get to know them personally. I interact with them. I observe them. Only then do I begin forming my own impression of who they are.

I believe it is dangerous to condemn people automatically without knowing them, because doing so creates space for even more violence. At the same time, it is equally dangerous to assume that everyone is kind and open-minded.

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So what should we do?

I prefer to think of stereotypes as warnings rather than verdicts. They may encourage me to be cautious, but they should never keep me from discovering the person standing in front of me.

We can simply acknowledge that every human being has the potential to do good or to do harm. We can use the stereotypes associated with a group as a temporary point of reference—a reminder to be attentive—while making the effort to know each person as an individual. We should resist the temptation to place people into boxes based on the stories that came before them and choose instead to become genuinely interested in the individual.

I am Haitian, but I avoid working harder than necessary simply because that expectation exists. I am Black, but I make a conscious effort not to see racism or favoritism in every small action of people from other races. I try to remain open-minded and to create a space where every person I meet can belong, regardless of the stories that came before them or their own personal and cultural perspective.

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Thank you for reading !

With Clarity,
Odel A
The Mirror Room

I often hear people speak with certainty about someone—or even an entire culture—despite never having truly known that person or experienced that place for themselves.

It always leaves me with the same question:

How many things do you believe you know about the world that you’ve never actually verified?

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Borrowed Beliefs

Listen to them.
But do not believe them.

Do not let their voices
settle inside your mind.

Make enough noise within yourself,
with your own voice,
to drown out their echoes.

They will kill your spirit of adventure.

They will make you blind,
ignorant,
arrogant,
condescending,
alienated,
contemptuous.

Do not become a fanatic.

Be a disciple
of your own discipline.

Listen to them.
But do not believe them.

“Colombia—a country of drugs,
violence, and death everywhere,”
they told me.

Sadly, I believed them.

But my curiosity saved me.

I was afraid when adventure called,
yet I refused to surrender to their echoes.

Instead, I discovered a beautiful country,
rich in culture,
history,
and breathtaking natural landscapes.

Of course, there is danger,
drugs,
and crime.

But who is without flaws?

What country has no dark corners?

Violence in poor neighborhoods,
poverty,
crime...

I laughed at their ignorance
when I saw on television
what they were saying
about my homeland:

Haiti—an island
surrounded by water,
rivers, and lakes,
yet said to suffer from a lack of it.

They claimed
they would have to give us some,
while our countryside
is filled with fresh springs.

Yes, there are ugly realities where I come from.
But they never show its beauty.
And sadly,
neither do we.

Listen to them.
But do not believe them.

They try to impose their beliefs,
sometimes born
from nothing more
than their own imagination.

How many countries,
how many people,
suffer beneath these loud stories?

Be careful.

Listen to them,
the way you take a deep breath
before diving underwater.

Their words can serve as a warning,
as preparation.

But do not let their fear
keep you from moving forward.

Listen to them.
Verify.

And above all—
do not believe them
until you have learned
how to truly listen.

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Mirror Question:

When was the last time reality surprised you because it was different from what you had been told?

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Personal’s Note:

Everything I write is meant to help us see ourselves a little more clearly.

If these free reflections have resonated with you, becoming a paid subscriber gives you access to guide reflections and the Monthly Guide to Clarity—a journey carefully designed to help you explore these ideas within your own life.

And if you simply enjoy this work, supporting it is a wonderful way to help it continue reaching others.

Thank you for reading.

With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

It's absurd.
Almost impossible not to laugh at it.

Better to laugh,
to savor the madness.

How could I have believed
I had grown wise
after so many shipwrecks?

How could I have thought
I had bent beneath my law
that untamed force
that has brought down kings?

What arrogance!

I paid the price
of my ignorance.

Perhaps another low blow
from Providence,
a reminder
to return to humility.

Yes, I thought I had found love,
when all along I had been thrown
to the vultures.

J'avais cru trouver l'amour

J'avais cru trouver l'amour,
alors que je n'étais que l'élu des vautours.

C'est insensé.
Presque impossible de ne pas s'en moquer.

Mieux vaut en rire,
savourer ce délire.

Comment ai-je pu croire
être devenu sage
après de nombreux naufrages ?

Comment ai-je pu penser
avoir courbé sous ma loi
cette force farouche
qui a fait tomber des rois ?

Quelle arrogance !
J'ai payé le prix de mon ignorance !
Peut-être un autre coup bas de la providence,
fallait qu'on me rappelle à la décence !

Oui, j'avais cru trouver l'amour,
alors qu'on m'avait jeté en pâture aux vautours.

Just something that I wrote this week. The mirror question is: can we really understand love even after many experiences? Can we truly understand the human’s heart ?

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“Ou gen 3 mal sou tèt: ou sot, ou nwè epi w ayisyen.”

(You’ve got three strikes against you: you’re an idiot, you’re Black, and you’re Haitian.)

Those words made us laugh back then, and I can’t even remember how many times we repeated them to tease one another.

Later, after I left Haiti, I began to realize that what had been nothing more than a joke to us as teenagers carried a much deeper and more tragic meaning for the man who had said it. He had lived in the United States and had eventually been deported.

It was during my years abroad that his words stopped being a joke to me and became something far more unsettling.

In a world where we are constantly competing and surrounded by scammers, being naïve can indeed be a burden. In a world shaped by bias and prejudice, being Black can also be a disadvantage in certain places and under certain circumstances. And beyond being Black, being Haitian can sometimes be seen as a burden—or even as a flaw in itself.

This article, however, is not about racism. It is not a complaint about Haitians. It is about something that goes beyond racism, bias, and prejudice. I would argue that these behaviors we often describe as unjust are, in many ways, the consequences of a deeper concept: stereotypes.

At first, I had no intention of writing this bonus article. It wasn’t part of my plan. But I recently began studying psychology, and during my first course on identity, diversity, and related topics, this word simply stayed in my mind. Around the same time, I was deeply moved by an article published on Substack last month, I Hope You Teach Your Child About Mine, in which she writes about her son. She reveals the remarkable child hidden behind the disability that most people notice first.

That article made me think. And during those moments of reflection, I came to believe that beyond our appearance and our behavior lie the stories we inherit—and the stories that continue to spread around us.

In my opinion, stereotypes do not appear out of nowhere. They are formed from the stories that raised us and from the ones that continue to shape the world around us.

From the moment we are born, we all receive certain characteristics: the color of our skin, our culture, our country, our family, our community, our appearance... Each of those characteristics carries its own stories.

These stories are like an identity compass—or simply a profile card. They are simplified mental images that help us categorize ourselves in a world that is far too complex. They also help us find our place within a community, creating a sense of belonging and similarity.

These stories are not only about ourselves. They are also about other people. We live in a world where comparison is often used to identify, classify, and reassure the group. In that sense, a story is not only a map of who I am. It is also a map of the world. And it is this second function that gives birth to stereotypes.

From this perspective, stereotypes are the beliefs we have developed from these stories. They also become the profile cards we create in our minds about other people. When we meet someone, we often see the stories we have already learned about them before we see the person.

A Black man inherits a general description of White or Asian people from his community, and vice versa. Regardless of our culture or where we come from, we all inherit stories about other groups.

Our behavior—toward ourselves and toward others—is deeply influenced by those stereotypes.

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How Stories Become Stereotypes

I worked for ten months in a Chinese restaurant at Disney World. I was part of the dishwashing team. Every dishwasher there was Haitian. That surprised me at first, and some of my coworkers believed it was because of racism. I thought so too, at least in the beginning.

Later, I left Disney and started working at Amazon. There, my fellow Haitians were among the top performers in the warehouse. Our numbers were well above average. Some even reached three times the expected rate.

Little by little, I started thinking about it. I worked extremely hard, yet my paycheck never changed. So I began to slow down and ask myself a simple question: Why should I push myself this hard? I could perform at an average level and the company would have no issue with my performance. So why did I feel the need to do more?

While talking with my uncle, he told me that when he worked as a dishwasher at Disney years earlier, the team wasn’t made up exclusively of Haitians. But over time, Haitians had become known for working so fast and so hard that employees from other nationalities gradually disappeared from the dishwashing team. A task that normally would have taken two hours could be finished in less than one by the Haitian crew.

Looking back, I remember the pressure and the intensity we lived with every day, always trying to finish the work as quickly as possible.

For a while, I criticized that behavior among my fellow Haitians.

Then I realized I was doing exactly the same thing.

This is not something unique to Haitians. When you grow up as part of a minority community, you are often taught that you must work harder than everyone else just to receive the same opportunity.

As the rapper Youssoupha says in one of his songs:

“I had to give everything just to be given half.”

Even in a fair environment, we still put pressure on ourselves to be the best and to give more, unconsciously influenced by the stories we inherited while growing up.

Those behaviors eventually give birth to new stereotypes. In the example of Haitians, employers notice how hard Haitians work and begin repeating that observation. Haitians hear those words, and over time they unconsciously create a sense of expectation within the group itself. The cycle continues.

In a way, we create our own pressure by establishing standards that are shaped by our own beliefs.

Stereotypes also influence the way we treat other people. In many ways, they are the roots of prejudice. Stories provide us with profile cards about others, and from those profile cards emerges an emotional filter—what we feel when we encounter that image: fear, rejection, sympathy, or something else.

From those prejudices come discriminatory actions.

It is important to recognize that discrimination is not always something inherently evil. Discrimination begins the moment our stories stop influencing only the way we see the world and start influencing the decisions we make. We become more likely to give our trust, our opportunities, or our privileges to certain people while denying them to others. Even what is commonly called positive discrimination, despite its intention to correct past injustices, still operates on this same principle of treating people differently based on their membership in a particular group.

Those prejudices can eventually lead to violent reactions such as racism and many other forms of discrimination.

If we look more closely, we can see that these mechanisms follow a clear pattern. Everything begins with an observed reality. Then comes the interpretation we make of it. That interpretation becomes a story. And stories are almost never entirely true, nor entirely false.

In his song “Trinity,” Lucky Dube describes the tension that exists between two groups of people who hold different views of one another. He summarizes that tension in one simple line:

“When you see a black man, you see an aggressor. And when I see a white man, I see an oppressor.”

The question is: why? Why does each group expect something negative from the other?

Employers who have repeatedly seen Haitians work extremely hard may eventually come to expect every Haitian employee to behave the same way. If one day they meet someone who doesn’t, it may create a sense of disappointment, which in turn can create tension between employers and employees.

All of this simply shows that every story has an origin. More often than not, however, we classify an entire group based on the actions of a single individual. Someone who has had one bad experience with a Black man may quickly assume that all Black men are the same. They tell that story to those around them, who then repeat it to others, and the cycle continues. Each time the story is retold, it changes a little. It becomes more dramatic. Eventually, the original event may be forgotten altogether, while the message itself continues to spread.

The original story was not false. That person really did have a negative experience with a Black man. But neither was the story completely true, because not every Black man is the same. The same can be said about the story of White people being oppressors.

Over time, we become trapped in this cycle. We keep repeating the stories we inherited while creating new ones that reinforce what we already believe. Our minds, often without us realizing it, are constantly searching for evidence that confirms our existing beliefs.

In Haiti, we often grow up hearing that other nations are against us. When we meet someone from another country, influenced by those stereotypes, we instinctively become defensive. We begin to see provocation everywhere, racism in every small gesture. We become more attentive to anything that confirms the story we already carry within us. Then we react to an injustice that, at times, exists only in our own interpretation. The other person may sense that defensiveness and respond with a defensive wall of their own.

Stereotypes do more than block communication. They prevent genuine encounters. As long as we see people through the stories we inherited about them, we rarely give them the opportunity to tell us their own.

In that sense, the system of stereotypes, while both universal and comforting, traps us within an incomplete view of reality.

To be continued…

We often question our parents—the people who watched us grow up and deeply shaped our identity. Yet we rarely question another parent that raises us as well: our country.

The stories and beliefs it passes on to us often become the way we see the world, long before we ever have the chance to choose for ourselves.

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Motherland,

you, once called the Pearl of the Antilles,
for your beauty, your wealth,
for what you represented.

Your history stood as an example,
like a thread of light
in the heart of the darkness
of a world still far too divided.

You knew the chains,
you knew suffering,
and so you fought.

So many are those for whom you fought.
So many are the wars that were never yours.
So many are the homelands whose foundations you helped lay.
homelands that now look down on you,
homelands that still humiliate your children.

Haiti,
once a symbol of freedom,
resilience, and courage,
now
a land in agony,
a wounded people,
cast aside
like an object that is no longer useful,
like a spring with nothing left to give.

Today, I write.
Not to recall your former glory.

No.

I write to settle accounts.

Not with those you helped,
Not with those who erased you from their stories.
Not with the others.

I write to settle my accounts
with you,
Motherland.

I did not choose you as a mother.
Perhaps you did not choose
for me to be your child either.

It was the work of providence.

You took me into your arms,
perhaps with frustration,
with a little sadness hidden behind your joy.

Perhaps, deep within your heart,
there were lamentations,
because you were already carrying a burden,
costumes that held you captive.

You gave me a foundation,
like a loving mother who,
for her children, becomes a home.

You protected me from the noise outside.
You gave me plains on which to learn to run,
rivers in which to wash,
springs from which to cool myself,
fresh food to strengthen me.

And above all,
you forged me,
gave me a mind of steel..

You demanded more from me than others did.
Your way of teaching was harsher,
the conditions more primitive.

Some of my brothers and sisters
criticize the way you raised us.

They praise the quality of others,
how much easier it is to learn from them.

Few take the time to consider
that when one is accustomed to extremes,
what is normal can begin to feel easy.

I still carry the marks
of your educational,
financial,
and social severity.

You told me again and again
that I was better than the others,
that I had to be.

You told me I was strong,
that I had to become stronger,
to fight,
to survive,
to find my way out.

You forced your intelligence into me,
with the rod,
if necessary.

You wanted me to be more intelligent
than the others,
or at least more than ordinary.

I know that, presented this way,
one might say I am accusing you of arrogance.

But you know, I understand you, Motherland.

I had to leave you
to understand the weight of your lessons.

I had to live among others
to understand the meaning
behind your proud teachings.

Because you knew,
long before I ever realized,
that being your son was not a gift,
that carrying your name was also a burden.

Yes, I understand.

You were trying to make up for that weakness.

You were trying to fill me with value
when your image threatened to close doors in my face.

Your teachings helped me enter.

I had to leave
to understand what it means
to be your son.

As Youssoupha said:

“I had to give everything
just to be given half.”

I understand this necessary arrogance.

Like a child,
I believed every story you told me.

I carried them proudly,
like guides,
like absolute truths.

They were useful to me,
certainly,
but they also confined me.

You taught me
a world in black and white,
them against me,
and me against them.

Lucky Dube expresses this tension better.

In Trinity, he says:

“When I see a white man,
I see an oppressor.”

Just as you told me:

“When they see a Black man,
they see a criminal.”

It is not entirely false,
but I must admit that you were wrong,
Motherland.

Because of your teachings,
I lived among them
without ever truly living with them.

Do you know the loneliness that brought me?

In preparing me,
you also programmed me
to see enemies and adversaries everywhere.

A way of seeing
that brought me more suffering
than peace.

And your image never stopped haunting me,
as though every one of my actions
had to serve to restore your honor,
as though being myself
could never meet your standards.

But did you choose those standards?

That does not erase the suffering
your name has caused me,
or the shame I have felt.

Yes, Motherland,
there was a time
when I was ashamed to be your child.

But I never denied you.

I watched my brothers and sisters reject you
out of fear of being rejected.

But I never denied you,
even when it meant being rejected myself.

Some often think
that I betray your memory.

Tell me, Motherland,
should I support my brothers and sisters
simply because they come from you,
even when I believe they are wrong?

Should I set reason aside
to support and defend
the reckless actions
of my own people?

Would it be a betrayal of you
if I became friends with others?

I learned your principles.
I carried them for a long time.

And I also came to see their limits.

The world is not only black and white.

Yes, many have rejected me because of you.
Yes, may doors have been shut in my face because of you.
Yes, many are times I have had to do more
just to receive half of what others receive.

Yes, many have judged and condemned me
before ever knowing me,
simply because I am your child.

And yet, many more have accepted me.

Some walked beside me.
Others helped me.
They supported me.

Many see me beyond your image.

And perhaps, through me,
they have come to see you differently.

Know this well, Motherland:

I do not deny your teachings.
I will never throw away your stories.
I will keep your anger and your hatred near me.

But from now on,
they are no longer absolute truths,
nor standards by which I judge.

They remain as warnings.

We live in a biased world,
and even your darkest teachings
carry their share of truth.

There will probably always be
people who despise you,
others who persecute and condemn me
Because of your name.

Your teachings prepare me to face them.

For that,
I will always be grateful.

But I choose understanding.

I no longer condemn others
simply because they come from somewhere else.

I no longer judge people
the way you taught me to.

I judge them by their actions.

I will no longer condemn anyone automatically
because they are different from us.

I want to replace that hatred
with understanding,
integration,
connection.

Be assured, Motherland,
I will remain cautious.

Because I am your child,
as fierce and resilient as you,
generous yet untamed like you,
gentle and also as destructive as you.

Haiti,
Motherland,
you, once called the Pearl of the Antilles,

now in agony,

like all your children,
I carry your scars,
I inherit your labels.

You rocked me,
you taught me,
you shaped me,
you equipped me to face the world.

Yes, I come from you.

A little different, perhaps.

I am my own voice,
searching for a better version of you.

You remain my home,
my foundation.

I do not know whether I can say
that I am proud to be your child.
But I can proudly say
that I am your child.

You are not simply part of my story.

You are its first author,
its first light.

Mirror Question:

What is one belief you inherited from where you come from that you have never stopped to question?

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With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

Those constant comparisons frustrated me more than anything, and in a way, they also made me sad. At the time, I didn’t really understand where that tension came from, so I let anger take over. It was simply the easiest emotion to recognize and express.

Deep down, I wanted to be like my parents. They were respected, strong people. It’s natural for a child to want to follow in the footsteps of one or both parents. At the same time, though, I also wanted to be seen as myself.

And every time someone compared me to my brother (since we were almost always together), it created distance between that person and me. A little between my brother and me as well, but mostly between me and everyone else. I remember one of my brother’s girlfriends who got into the habit of calling me whenever she couldn’t reach him or whenever they were having a problem. One day, I asked her why she only called me to get to my brother. She told me that talking to my brother was basically the same as talking to me.

The anger I felt after hearing that turned into resentment, and I stopped trying to talk to her or build any kind of relationship with her.

She had treated me like an extension of my brother, and I have to admit, I truly hated that.

There have always been many comparisons between the way I am and the rest of my family. There are plenty of differences and plenty of similarities, yet people always seem to point out the differences.

Today, however, those comments no longer bother me. The tension that the child and the teenager within me carried has faded away.

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At some point, it becomes important to become yourself. It’s true that we first learn who we are by comparing ourselves to others. We develop parts of our character by observing the people around us. We shape our attitudes in relation to them—sometimes to become more like them, sometimes to become different from them.

A child defines themselves through the people around them. That is what sometimes creates a tension we continue to carry even after becoming adults. We struggle between the desire to be like our parents and the desire to be a little different from them. That longing to become ourselves can become a source of shame and intimidation because people never stop reminding us where we come from, sometimes with the intention of making us feel guilty or keeping us inside a box.

It is in our nature to want to honor those who came before us, to make our parents proud. We try to carry the weight of their expectations and avoid disappointing them. Sometimes, that leads us to hide who we are and sacrifice our dreams. Some of the paths that open before us can feel like a betrayal of where we come from. Very often, even when we truly want to follow those paths, the thought of betraying our heritage holds us back.

Following your own path, becoming yourself, is not always a betrayal of your roots.

When a child learns to walk, they first move in a straight line. They hold onto a wall, for example, and follow wherever that wall leads. Although the wall helps them keep their balance and move forward with confidence at first, they cannot follow that straight path forever. Eventually, they become strong and balanced enough to choose their own direction. And even if they walk the opposite way, the wall remains the point of reference that first gave them stability.

We see traces of this same mechanism in adulthood. When we are weak—for example, when someone is too drunk to walk straight—they often lean against a wall just to keep moving.

The child is not the wall, but the wall is an important part of helping the child learn to walk.

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The same is true of identity. At first, we define ourselves by following the path laid out by others. But eventually, we should follow our own path, even if it sometimes feels like we are walking in the opposite direction from those who raised us.

Today, when someone tells me I’m not like a member of my family, I simply answer, “I’m me.” And if they tell me I am like them, I accept that I learned from them.

There is no longer any tension. I want to be like them in certain ways while still becoming myself.

Which brings us back to the idea we’ve been developing throughout this series: perhaps identity is not about rejecting what we’ve inherited or becoming someone else. Perhaps it is about recognizing what has been passed down to us, choosing what we want to carry forward and what we want to leave behind, while continuing to follow our own path.

What matters is being yourself.

Mirror Question:

What part of yourself have you been afraid to embrace because it felt like a betrayal of where you came from?

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This week’s poem

If this text brings you clarity, understanding and self-awareness, please consider becoming a paid subscriber to support this place.

With clarity,

Odel A
The Mirror Room

To mark this moment, I’m sharing it in its original French version, as well as in English and Spanish.

I believe that, at some point in our lives, we all need to say these words to ourselves:

I am not you.

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Je ne suis pas vous.
Non, je ne veux pas être comme vous.
Mais un prolongement de vous,
Je poursuis une meilleure version de vous.

Père, mère, grand frère,
vous m’avez transmis beaucoup,
La valeur de la vie, le respect pour tous.
La bonté, la foi, la résilience,
La patience, l’indépendance, la persévérance.

J’ai vu vos sacrifices,
Votre dévotion sans malice,
Vous ne tolérez pas les vices,
Vous m’avez appris à vivre sans trop de caprices.

J’ai aussi vu vos limitations,
Ceux que vous laissez profiter de votre compassion.
Vous donnez souvent sans réfléchir, sans mesurer,
Pour vous retrouver seuls quand vous tombez.

Je veux bien de votre générosité,
Je porte en moi votre sensibilité,
Mon cœur honore votre bonté,
Mais j’avance avec mon armure d’insensibilité.

Je veux donner sans me vider,
Aider sans me sacrifier,
Supporter sans me blesser,
Me sauver avant de les sauver.

Je ne suis pas comme vous,
Mais une amélioration de vous.
Vous êtes ma fondation,
Mon origine, mon échantillon.

Non, frangin, mère, père,
Je ne serai jamais vous,
Malgré toute mon admiration pour vous.
Avec vous en moi, je suis ma propre lumière.

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I am not you.
No, I do not want to be like you.
But an extension of you,
I pursue a better version of you.

Father, mother, big brother,
You have given me so much:
The value of life, respect for everyone,
Kindness, faith, resilience,
Patience, independence, perseverance…

I have seen your sacrifices,
Your selfless devotion.
You do not tolerate vice.
You taught me to live without endless wants.

I have also seen your limitations,
Those who take advantage of your compassion.
You often give without thinking, without measuring,
Only to find yourselves alone when you fall.

I gladly inherit your generosity.
I carry your sensitivity within me.
My heart honors your kindness.
But I move forward wearing my armor of detachment.

I want to give without emptying myself,
To help without sacrificing myself,
To support without hurting myself,
To save myself before trying to save others.

I am not like you,
But an improvement of you.
You are my foundation,
My origin, my first model.

No, brother, mother, father,
I will never be you,
Despite all the admiration I have for you.
With you within me, I become my own light.

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No soy ustedes.
No quiero ser como ustedes.
Sino una prolongación de ustedes,
Persigo una mejor versión de ustedes.

Padre, madre, hermano,
Me han transmitido tanto:
El valor de la vida, el respeto por todos,
La bondad, la fe, la resiliencia,
La paciencia, la independencia, la perseverancia...

He visto sus sacrificios,
Su entrega desinteresada.
No toleran los vicios.
Me enseñaron a vivir sin demasiados caprichos.

También he visto sus límites,
A quienes se aprovechan de su compasión.
Con frecuencia dan sin pensar, sin medir,
Para terminar solos cuando ustedes caen.

Quiero conservar su generosidad.
Llevo dentro de mí su sensibilidad.
Mi corazón honra su bondad.
Pero avanzo con mi armadura de insensibilidad.

Quiero dar sin vaciarme,
Ayudar sin sacrificarme,
Apoyar sin herirme,
Salvarme antes de intentar salvar a los demás.

No soy como ustedes,
Sino una mejora de ustedes.
Ustedes son mi cimiento,
Mi origen, mi primer modelo.

No, hermano, madre, padre,
Nunca seré ustedes,
A pesar de toda la admiración que les tengo.
Con ustedes dentro de mí, soy mi propia luz.

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Mirror Question:

Imagine someone reading your life the way you read your parents’. What would you hope they inherit from you—and what would you hope ends with you?

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A COFFEE ?

With Clarity,
Odel A.
The Mirror Room

Disclaimer

These reflections are intended for self-observation and personal exploration. They are not a substitute for professional mental health support. If a reflection brings up overwhelming emotions, consider pausing and seeking support from a qualified professional.

The Mirror

As children, we naturally depend on others. They choose where we live, what we learn, and many of the opportunities we receive. Little by little, however, something is meant to change. We begin making small decisions for ourselves. We discover what we enjoy, what we dislike, what feels right to us. Choosing gradually becomes part of how we discover who we are.

Looking back, I realized that this process quietly stopped for me.

Many of my activities had already been decided. My classes, my hobbies, and often the direction I was expected to follow. At the time, I did not see it as a problem. In many ways, it made life easier. I did not have to worry about making decisions because someone else had already made them for me.

Years later, adulthood expected me to know what I wanted.

Instead, I often found myself unable to answer a simple question.

“What do you want?”

Not because I lacked ambition or intelligence, but because I had spent so many years following that I had stopped practicing one of the most important skills of adulthood: choosing.

This week’s practice is an invitation to explore a simple possibility.

What if the difficulty is not that you don’t know yourself?

What if you simply haven’t had enough opportunities to practice choosing for yourself?

This Week’s Clarity

This practice will help you:

• recognize where your ability to choose may have been shaped by your environment;

• distinguish between following others and discovering your own preferences;

• begin rebuilding confidence through small, intentional choices.

More importantly, it will help you begin relearning that ability through small choices instead of waiting for certainty.

You do not need to decide the rest of your life this week. You only need to begin exercising a skill that may have been left behind.

The Structural Lens

Others Chose → I Followed → My Preferences Became Quiet → I Practice Choosing → I Build My Own Direction

We often think clarity comes first and choices come second.

Sometimes the opposite is true.

Sometimes we only discover what we want because we were willing to choose, reflect, adjust, and choose again.

Like any other skill, the ability to choose develops through practice.

Before You Look

This practice is not about blaming the people who made decisions for you.

Parents, siblings, teachers, and communities often choose with good intentions and very often, out of love. They want to protect us, prepare us, or give us opportunities they never had themselves.

The purpose of this practice is different.

It is simply to notice whether, somewhere along the way, your opportunities to choose became smaller than your opportunities to follow.

If they did, perhaps the answer is not to judge yourself for feeling uncertain.

The answer is to begin practicing again.

🪞 Mirror One — Following or Choosing?

Think about your childhood and adolescence.

Who usually made the important decisions?

More importantly, how often were you invited to make your own?

Do not focus on whether those decisions were good or bad. Instead, notice whether you had enough opportunities to develop your own judgment.

Sometimes the habit of following becomes so familiar that we mistake it for our personality.

🪞 Mirror Two — Listening for Your Own Voice

Think of one decision you have been avoiding or postponing.

Before you ask what other people think, pause for a moment and ask yourself:

What is my first honest answer?

It may feel uncertain.

It may even feel incomplete.

That is not necessarily a sign that your answer is wrong. It may simply be the sound of a voice you have not listened to very often.

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It wasn’t something I chose voluntarily, and I have to admit that, at the time, I actually enjoyed not having to worry about what I should do or study. Nevertheless, I didn’t yet understand the impact this would have on my adult life. The first time I found myself having to choose something for myself, it was as though I had run straight into a wall. I simply couldn’t clearly decide what I wanted.

My father, having grown up in a family that believed there was only one path in life, wanted to give his children the opportunities he himself had never had. He dreamed of studying, of becoming a philosopher, of building a life beyond his family’s ancestral legacy. Since he had been unable to fulfill those dreams, he did everything he could to make sure that we could.

Yet, despite his sincere desire to equip us with different skills and abilities, he unintentionally took away one fundamental right: the right to choose.

I had become like my older brother’s shadow. I imagine that wasn’t something he had chosen either. People already mistook us for twins because we were always together, but every time he decided to enroll in a new course, my father automatically enrolled me as well. Refusing was never an option.

He said he wanted to give both my brother and me the same tools to succeed in life. It was a noble intention, filled with love, of course. Yet he never took our different personalities and desires into account. Before we even realized it, my brother’s desires had become mine as well.

When my brother decided to learn English, I was forced to learn it too, even though I would have preferred to study Spanish. English has been incredibly useful to me today, and I am grateful to my father for that. But back then, I never invested myself as I should have, and my foundation in English was never as solid as my brother’s.

Then my brother decided to learn the piano. I loved the piano too, but I was required to choose a different instrument so I could accompany him and our friends. That decision did not come from my father, but from the Christian community in which I grew up. The church wanted to train musicians, and morality became the means used to persuade me.

At one point, everything was decided by my brother. He looked after me like a parent looks after a child. He bought my clothes. His decisions were law. Before I realized it, I had become completely dependent on him, and I stopped thinking about what I truly wanted.

That being said, I became a very flexible person. It is a quality I genuinely appreciate because it allows me to live without rigidity and to adapt easily to different situations.

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Then, when I was about sixteen, I think something changed.

Perhaps my brother had grown tired of having to take care of me all the time and began forcing me to become more independent from him.

I still remember that moment as if it had happened yesterday because I deeply resented him for what happened, even though he was trying to help me spread my wings—something perhaps even he didn’t fully understand.

At the time, I was living with my paternal grandparents. During every school break, my brothers would go visit my parents, but I always refused to go. For me, it was a time of complete freedom, without my older brother around.

But that summer, I went to visit them too. I remember genuinely wanting to go. At the end of the summer break, before returning to my grandparents’ house, my mother gave us money to buy clothes and shoes. Normally, my brother handled all of that.

When we arrived at the market, I followed him until he told me to hurry up and buy what I needed. I felt stressed and confused because he made it very clear that he wasn’t going to help me. Instead, he put me under pressure.

We eventually stopped in front of a shoe vendor. There were all kinds of shoes. It was my last chance; otherwise we would go home empty-handed, and the next day I wouldn’t have any time left. I had to choose, but I didn’t know which shoes to buy. There was the question of quality, of price.

In Haiti, when you shop in those large markets, it’s easy to get taken advantage of, whether because of the quality or the price. There are no fixed prices—you have to negotiate, and I didn’t know how to do that. Stressed and under pressure, I chose a pair of handmade shoemaker’s shoes. The quality was certain. They would last for years. The problem was their weight and comfort. But I didn’t have time to think about that. The negotiation ended quickly. I don’t like bargaining. One or two prices, deal done.

For a brief moment, I felt grown-up and proud of having handled everything on my own. But that feeling lasted only a few seconds. My older brother’s laughter erased every bit of satisfaction and replaced it with shame and embarrassment. He criticized my choice and said I had paid far too much for the shoes. I think he was right, because that was his area of expertise. I was so angry with him. Throughout the entire purchase, I kept asking what he thought, whether he believed I had made a good choice. He kept repeating that he didn’t know—it was up to me to decide.

Decide? At the time, that responsibility was simply too heavy for me.

When we got home, he told the story to everyone. People laughed at me for a long time. I felt ridiculous and looked down upon.

After that incident, I never asked him to accompany me anywhere again. I began depending on no one. Whenever I bought something by myself, I would lower the price whenever I talked about it because I was afraid of being ridiculed again for having made a bad deal.

After my brother, I continued carrying that attitude for many years—with my friends and with the people around me. I had very little confidence in my own choices, so I generally avoided making them whenever I could.

That has its advantages. I don’t really have strong preferences. If something is good, then it’s good enough for me. At the same time, it can also create the impression that I lack originality.

Are my choices truly my own?

I quickly came to realize that what is truly mine is what I choose to make my own. Perhaps a choice wasn’t entirely mine at first, but the moment it aligns with who I am and I embrace it as my own, I believe I can consider it original to me.

In reality, we all began by depending on others before we ever depended on ourselves. Yet some of us never move beyond that stage. We remain dependent on our families, our friends, and the people around us. Perhaps we are afraid of making mistakes, of being ridiculed, or simply of being alone. Those are deeply human fears, and perhaps the only way to move beyond them is to accept our imperfections and the consequences that come with them.

When a baby learns to walk, they fall and get hurt, of course. Yet they keep getting back up, over and over again, until they can walk with confidence and balance. In a way, perhaps growing up requires us to go through the very same process.

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Mirror Question:

When was the first time you had to make an important decision on your own? How did that experience shape the confidence—or hesitation—you carry into your choices today?

Leave a comment

This Week’s Poem:

If this text brings you clarity, understanding and self-awareness, please consider becoming a paid subscriber to support this place.

With clarity,

Odel A
The Mirror Room

Refer a friend

December 2025

Big brother,

there isn’t only resentment
for you in my heart.
I know that now,
and in a way,
even as a child, I already knew.

Maybe that explains
why I kept trying,
again and again,
to keep a bridge between us.

But perhaps, I tell myself,
that bridge had to be broken
so that, at last, we could understand it,
so that, at last, I could understand it.

I am who I am today
because of you.
And perhaps you, too,
grew because of me.

I know you did
everything you could.
More than a brother,
you were like a guardian,
a second father.
You placed on me
the kind of pressure
only a parent places upon a child.

I saw you as my jailer;
perhaps you truly were.
But if I never lost my way,
it’s because you stayed watchful.
When I acted recklessly,
you knew how to stop
my attempts
to deceive.

Isn’t it strange,
don’t you think,
that sometimes the very reason
we hate someone
is also the reason
we owe them so much,
so much gratitude?

I still remember
that day when
you got into a fight at school for me.
You called me a coward,
and perhaps you were right,
because you didn’t know,
and you probably still don’t,
that I’d rather take the blow today
so I can strike harder tomorrow.

That’s just how I am,
but you’re different.
You don’t leave time
for revenge.
You defend yourself
right then and there.

We could have made a great team, you know.
Somewhere in my heart,
I still hold on
to a little of that hope.
You, the strength, and I, the mind,
together we could
shake the earth,
call down the rain,
lay waste to a world.

You have the strength,
of that I am certain.
After all,
you are my brother,
a courageous soldier,
proud and full of conviction.

I owe you so much.
I smile just thinking about it,
how, without realizing it,
you helped me surpass you,
to earn better grades than yours,
at times...
It’s a little funny, isn’t it?

You often said
that we were not
competing.
Who were you fooling?
I saw your efforts
to stay afloat,
to stay on top.
You had to,
with a little troublemaker
not too stupid brother like me.

Our rivalry taught me
independence, freedom.
You never tried
to force your vision on me.
You let me make mistakes.

Whether your reasons mattered to me or not,
it taught me
to stand on my own,
to defend my ideas,
to stand by them,
even when others disagreed.

I often tell this story
to friends,
how, in uncertainty,
each of us followed our own instinct.
We would argue,
and when we couldn’t
reach an agreement,
each of us made our own choice.
Our grades always had
a slight difference,
sometimes in your favor,
sometimes in mine.
Surely
because of those different choices.

Strangely enough,
I feel calmer now.
When I think of you,
there is less anger.
We still don’t speak,
but the weight is no longer the same,
at least, on my side.

I have emptied my heart;
the child has shed his tears.
Now there is room again for our values,
room again for respect,
love,
and
gratitude.

If one day you happen
to come across
these writings,
I want you to know:
you were one of the pillars
that helped build me.

A brother beyond a brother,
a mentor, a guardian,
a protector,
a worthy and exhausting rival,
a role model,
and also a trial.

Know that I will
always be grateful to you.

J-F.A

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Mirror Question:

Who in your life have you spent years blaming, only to realize they also helped shape some of your greatest strengths? What did they give you that you couldn’t see at the time, and how does recognizing that change the way you see both them—and yourself?

If you feel comfortable, I’d love to hear your story. Feel free to share it in the comments—I look forward to reading it.

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With clarity,

Odel A.
The Mirror Room

Check July's Monthly Clarity Guide

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We all carry an inheritance. Some things were passed down to us consciously. Others settled within us without us even realizing it. Ways of thinking. Automatic reactions. Fears we cannot always explain. Habits that simply seem to be part of our personality.

The June Monthly Guide invited us to revisit our past and our childhood wounds through the eyes of the adult we have become. By creating that distance, we can begin to see what the child could not understand at the time. This process requires neither forgiveness nor forgetting. But by uncovering the stories hidden behind certain wounds, we can begin to carry them differently—with greater compassion and understanding.

Throughout the month of July, our reflection on healing the inner child gradually led us to an even more personal subject: our identity. We began looking at our inheritances with greater perspective. Over time, some of them have become part of the person we are today.

In reality, many of our present-day attitudes are repeated behaviors the child developed to respond to a particular need or situation. In that sense, our childhood is the foundation of our identity.

If we compare ourselves to a tree, no matter how majestic it has become, it cannot look down on the seed from which it grew. Without that seed, it would not exist. It is, ultimately, the fully developed version of that seed.

The same is true for us. The adult is the developed version of the child.

In many cases, a seed does not choose the soil in which it falls. Some fall into rich soil and grow into strong, healthy trees. Others fall into less fertile ground and must struggle harder to grow. And sometimes a seed falls into barren soil, giving rise to a frail tree that struggles to survive and lives under difficult conditions.

Like the seed, we do not choose the country in which we are born, the culture in which we grow up, or the family that raises us. Yet those environments profoundly shape the people we become. We inherit far more from our surroundings than we often realize.

The purpose of this month’s guide is to revisit our past. The goal is not to reject or judge our childhood or the people around us, but to become aware of what we have inherited from them. In doing so, we can begin to determine what we want to carry forward and what we want to leave behind.

Some of our attitudes have already fulfilled the role they once served in childhood. Others simply need to be understood before they can be transformed. Not all of them need to be rejected. Some only ask that we change the way we carry them.

A tree cannot change the land in which it grows without outside help, but we can. That requires understanding our situation clearly so that we can finally see the changes we want to make within ourselves.

This guide is an invitation to develop that clarity. It does not seek to tell you who you are. It invites you to better understand what you have inherited so that you can choose more consciously what you wish to continue carrying.

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📖 The Monthly Clarity Guide — July 2026 is now available.

Inside you’ll find:

• Four in-depth reflections

• Four guided Clarity Practices

• Guided journaling prompts

• A complete monthly journey connecting every reflection together

• A closing reflection to help integrate everything you’ve explored

Whether you’re joining this journey for the first time or you’ve been reading these reflections for months, I hope this guide offers you what it offered me:

• A little more understanding.

• A little more clarity.

• And a little more freedom to become who you consciously choose to be.

Buy it on Gumroad

For paid subscribers

As always, this month’s guide is included with your subscription.

You’ll find an exclusive Gumroad discount code below that lets you download your personal copy at no additional cost. I distribute the guide through Gumroad so all editions are collected in one place, and it also gives readers the opportunity to leave a review if they found it valuable.

If you enjoy the guide, a short review would mean a great deal. It helps more readers discover The Mirror Room and supports the continued creation of these monthly workbooks.

With Clarity,

Odel A
The Mirror Room

Clarity before Direction.

We had to define who we were before we even understood what it meant to be someone. We adapted to the stories told around us, the principles passed down to us, the beliefs of a community, and above all, the behaviors of the people around us.

During childhood, we were unaware of the importance of the choices we were making. What may have started as a way to attract attention or a way to assert ourselves gradually became a repeated behavior, and eventually, a part of our identity.

Children are very emotionally intelligent. They notice changes in the attitudes of the people around them. They absorb the emotions surrounding them, and they adapt.

A child can sense when a parent is sad, happy, in a good mood, or in a bad one. They possess that emotional intelligence. What we lack at that stage is the ability to mentalize—that is, the ability to understand that other people’s behaviors, emotions, and reactions are influenced by their own mental states (thoughts, intentions, emotions, and needs), and not necessarily by us.

From a child’s perspective, things are either black or white; either for us or against us. We rarely see another person’s perspective, which is perfectly normal. Perhaps a child is not meant to understand someone else’s perspective because they don’t yet understand what it even means to have one. Instead, they develop their own based on what they absorb from the world around them.

Looking back at our childhood through adult eyes allows us to become aware of the behaviors we had to develop, our identity, our strengths, as well as our flaws.

As children, we do NOT consciously choose our identity.

A child does not say to themselves:

• I am going to become someone who avoids conflict.

• I am going to become someone who overexplains.

• I am going to become someone who stays silent to please others.

• I am going to become someone who always expects failure or who sabotages themselves.

These are not conscious decisions. And yet, one day, we realize that we have become that person. More often than not, it is the result of what we received during childhood and how we learned to respond to it at the time.

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Recently, someone at work made a remark that made me think deeply. I was quietly walking, lost in my thoughts, when I noticed one of my coworkers acting a little suspiciously. It wasn’t anything serious. It was as if she expected me to do something to tease her.

I stopped and asked,

“Why are you acting as if I’m about to do something to you?”

“Because you ALWAYS do something to annoy me,” she replied.

“Really? I do that all the time?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

She confirmed it with a smile.

Then I went back to focusing on my work.

Nevertheless, the thought stayed with me. I quickly realized she was right. I tease people. Not in a mean-spirited way—just enough to lighten the atmosphere. And if I notice someone doesn’t enjoy it, I stop. Most of the time, I do it to break the ice or perhaps to attract a little attention.

I began wondering where that behavior came from, and I thought about it for a long time. Then, while writing these reflections on healing the inner child, I began to see where it had started.

I grew up with my older brother. He was three years older than I was, and through one of those strange twists of providence, we ended up in the same class in third grade. From then on, we were almost always together. The same classroom. The same friends. We even looked alike physically—almost the same height—that people often mistook us for twins.

My brother was serious, responsible, and hardworking. He was usually among the students sitting in the front rows, paying close attention to everything. I, on the other hand, adopted the exact opposite behavior. Perhaps it was my way of distinguishing myself from him because I had grown tired of constantly being compared to him. I wanted to be seen for who I was.

So I became the little rebel, the teaser. I was usually found in the back rows among the students paying the least attention and spending their time bothering everyone else. I lived that way for more than a decade. Whenever my brother adopted one behavior, I often adopted the opposite.

I accumulated behaviors over the years that are still part of who I am today, even as an adult. It made me realize that becoming an adult does not mean becoming a completely new person, but simply becoming a more developed version of the child we once were. In other words, we become more responsible, develop a stronger sense of duty, and gain greater awareness of who we are and what we do.

Think of it like an updated version of a product. Take an iPhone, for example. The iPhone 17 is nothing more than an improved version of the original model. The underlying technology remains the same, but the latest version is more sophisticated, with new features developed over time.

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I like my playful side. It helps me interact with people and integrate into society more naturally.

Recently, I called an Uber to go home after work. The driver happened to be a fellow Haitian. I started talking to him in our native language, and he asked me:

“Ou pale kreyòl?” (”You speak Creole?”)

“Ayiti m grandi pandan 19 ane.” (”I was raised in Haiti for 19 years”), I told him.

Then he asked me,

“Kisa w ap fè la?” (”What are you doing in the U.S.?”)

Me: “Hm 🫩?”

“Kòman w fè twouve w la?” (”How did you end up in this country?”) it repeated.

There was no aggression in his voice, and he didn’t seem to be judging me. I quickly realized he was teasing me a little. So I answered in a serious tone.

“Monchè, dòmi m dòmi epi lè m reveye m wè m la.” (”My friend, I simply went to sleep, and when I woke up, I found myself here.”)

We laughed and had a wonderful conversation for the rest of the ride.

All of this is simply to say that not every part of our identity inherited from childhood needs to be rejected.

The child within us does not disappear, but we accumulate knowledge, experience, and wisdom.

The adult does not completely replace the child. They retain much of the child’s original architecture, but with greater experience, greater awareness, language, responsibility, and a wider range of possibilities for action.

Perhaps identity is not about becoming someone else, but about understanding who the child within us became, why, and deciding what we choose to carry into adulthood—and how.

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🪞 Mirror Question:

Which part of your childhood identity still feels authentically yours... and which part do you think you’ve simply outgrown?

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If this text brings you clarity, understanding and self-awareness, please consider becoming a paid subscriber to support this place.

With clarity,

Odel A
The Mirror Room