In the South, we have a phrase we use for a very specific kind of raw, brutally honest conversation—one that’s uncomfortable but necessary. A come-to-Jesus. Also known as a CTJ, it’s the talk you have when truths need to surface and accountability has to be taken, whether you want it to or not. As I’ve progressed in my journey of self-love and reflection, I’ve realized how important it is to have CTJ conversations with yourself. And through a lot of experimentation, I’ve discovered that my most powerful CTJs happen when I am drunk, high, naked, and staring at myself in the mirror.
When I refer to these sessions to other people, I call it “my mirror time.” Usually it happens at a party, after a few White Claws, when I notice my vibes are a little off and I need to realign. I’ll announce that I’m going to look in the mirror for an hour or two, and people always give me that look. To many, spending that long staring at yourself seems egotistical. But I’d argue it actually dismantles the ego. Looking at yourself fully—open, vulnerable, beautiful in your flaws—leaves no room for pretense. The goal isn’t to praise your beauty or shred your insecurities. It’s simply to exist with yourself, stripped of performance, and look yourself in the eyes with brutal honesty. Celebrate your wins. Console yourself for your failures. Take an honest account of the who, what, where, when, and why of who you’ve become.
The idea for these self-reflection sessions came to me during a moment of intense vulnerability. It was when my mom was first diagnosed with cancer. Prior to that, I had never really been someone who spent much time crying, but I remember a moment right at the beginning when the tears came without warning, and I ran to the bathroom to hide. I found myself staring at my reflection, with no control over the tears. The sight of me in such a vulnerable state was so strange that I took a photo of it and shared it on social media. That was the first time it occurred to me that to see myself like that without trying to hide from the pain was a beautiful thing. Embracing that form of ultimate, naked vulnerability would only make me stronger in the long run.
What I’ve found through these sessions is the truth behind who I am. I am beautiful, flawed, kind, authentic, and resilient. At 42, I’ve somehow grown into the kind of person my inner child would be honored to meet. Every line on my face is a reminder that I’ve lived and loved deeply, that I’ve grieved and survived, that I’ve chased my dreams and collected a thousand tiny adventures. If that’s not a life worth honoring, then what is?
And yet, what we look like is only one small facet of a good CTJ. Here are some tips if you want to try this unconventional form of self-reflection:
Be both drunk and high. I don’t know why it works—chemistry? witchcraft?—but it does. Being drunk softens the edges of your overthinking. Being high slows down your thoughts so you can look at them one at a time. Together, they open the door to a kind of honesty that sober you will fight like hell to avoid.
Be at least partially naked. You don’t have to go full frontal the first time (though if we can’t look at ourselves naked, how do we expect anyone else to?). But taking a kind, honest inventory of your body is important. It is the most valuable instrument you will ever own. Learning to love it—in all its reality—should be a lifelong priority.
Listen to relaxing or ambient music. Music helps quiet the noise in your mind. It also encourages motion. A little dancing, a soft sway … anything that grounds you in your body. If you need Spotify recommendations, hit me up.
Stare directly into your own eyes. When I’m depressed, I can’t even look at my face, let alone hold my own gaze. But nothing builds confidence faster than looking into your eyes and asking, “What are you made of?” We say you can tell a person’s character by their eyes—so why not test that theory on yourself?
Balance criticism with compassion. You will find things to criticize. Welcome it. Let the thoughts come, and immediately follow them with a compliment or a reframe. If I’m thinking about the lines on my face, I remind myself they exist because I’ve survived incredible grief. If I’m critical of my body, I find gratitude that I have access to food and the luxury of rest.
Take an honest accounting of your life. Bring your inner child into the room. Ask if they’d be proud of the life you’ve made. Ask if you’re happy, or if you’ve been running on autopilot. If you died today, what regrets would come up? Curiosity is the doorway to happiness. Don’t be afraid to ask questions you usually avoid.
Inventory your strengths. Make a mental list of your inherent gifts—emotional, physical, spiritual. Are you a good friend? A loving presence? Resourceful? Strong-willed? My personal list includes “great tits” and “loyal friend” because this is a space for unfiltered honesty.
Seek love—within and without. The entire point of this exercise is to find love for yourself. If we accomplish nothing else with our short time on this planet, learning to understand ourselves and cultivating self-love should be the priority. Because once you love yourself, it radiates outward. It becomes easier to cherish your people. It becomes easier to love strangers. Eventually, it becomes easier to love humanity.
As queer people, we deserve peace. We deserve happiness. We deserve love. What nobody tells you is that these things only truly arrive when you cultivate them inside yourself first. Whatever you have to do to get there is your business. Personally, being drunk, high, and naked in front of a mirror is the best way I’ve found to strip away the world’s bullshit and speak to myself with open, unguarded vulnerability.
If you try this ritual, let me know in the comments—I’d love to witness your discoveries right alongside you.
Check out these awesome photos inspired the this topic, by my good friend and photographer Becky Duffyhill.
