The Path To Self Reflection

Mark Stobbart

“Hello? Can you hear me? Helloooo? Where are you?” echoed my voice through the vast emptiness, dissipating into the forest.

“I’ve spent months searching for you. Please come out. I need you!”

It seemed that my voice fell on silent ears and I started to wonder whether he was even there.

Traipsing around the cold and frost-ridden landscape, I noticed the darkness creeping in over the sky and the wind hollowing through the forest trees, whipping ice shards up off the lake and like a nail gun to a fresh surface, hammering them into the bark.

I recalled a time when this area was fresh, green, and peaceful, with wildlife running free and the sun’s reflection beaming up off the lake to radiate heat to the surrounding inhabitants. A host system can only fight for so long before the beauties start to wither and die, causing rot and eventual death to tiptoe up from below and claim everything in its path.



Such metaphors accurately describe the landscape of one’s consciousness, where the body as the host system can only take so much before the mind follows to an eventual death. But as the body can fight, so can the mind if you look deep enough within.

The internal monologue that drives us is very curious and important. It guides our every action, thought progression, and how we choose to conduct ourselves.

Spending time in desperation forced my hand in discovering the true necessity for mental transformation. Going from a lighthearted and cheerful boy with a spark in his eyes to an empty vessel with only pain on display, and finally into a man who is calm, collected, and peaceful. A process with this interim step I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but the silver lining is, however, a complete change in character right down to my very core.

Much like the sprouts of green that shoot through burnt savannah fields, I took to rebuilding the beautiful meadows of my mind, a challenging process requiring an enormous amount of self-reflection and introspection.

When looking back at photos from before, I realised that the young boy I was, looks nothing like the character that I hold myself to be today. The chemicals that incinerated my cells brought my bony and white skeleton to the surface. And yet, while my body suffered, someone or something that functioned purely out of necessity took over.

This character is quiet, composed, grounded, and stern; he is lean, bald, and strong. His attitude is remarkably positive and depicts a unified resolve against unrelenting waves of adversity. Whatever the scenario and challenge that beholds him, he takes it head-on.

But what was this feeling, the overwhelming strength and positivity? Where did it come from and how had I never seen it before?

My suspicions were that this character was the embodiment of my ‘survival mode’ and the reason I hadn’t ever seen him before was because the circumstance had never been grave enough to warrant his arrival. The true depth of his strength wasn’t immediately apparent to me until I had no other choice but to rely on his help.

In an attempt to process the surge of emotion and my feelings after extensive physical, mental, and emotional trauma, I found that my thoughts filled out the metaphor of a man, lost and stumbling through a deep, dark forest — the deadened landscape of what was once a beautiful and green lakeside meadow. Between the trees and fallen logs, walking on cold and crisp leaves, I searched for this elusive individual.

And after weeks of tireless effort, I finally found him.

In the distance, beyond the swampy terrain, lay a flat surfaced rock amidst the cold and gloomy water, upon which sat this bald man facing out towards the center of the lake. His eyes were closed and his breathing slow and controlled. From an outsider’s perspective, he appeared to be meditating or in a deep hypnosis. It was clear, however, that he didn’t want to be disturbed.

It wouldn’t be easy in any case as in order to get to his position, one would need a machete to hack and slash through the thorny thicket that surrounded the lake. The swampy fringes slurping on the water, in combination with the mud that oozed as a result of the forest’s edge, lay between him and me. A deterrent perhaps, as the size of those thorns looked like the kind that could sink into one’s skin like meat hooks on a fresh slaughter. I’d be barking mad to even consider the journey.

When I reflect on how I found myself dealing with cancer and chemotherapy, I threw out all that I knew about being strong and took it upon myself to summon up the strength. I have often thought that without this strength, I would have died on the surgeon’s table or succumbed to the icy sensations of the chemicals. Instead, however, the journey within kick-started a very necessary mental transformation.

Out of necessity to survive, this bald character stood up, turned, and cleared a pathway through the thicket and towards the forefront of my consciousness. The thorns lashed at his skin, like a whip to flesh, squirting blood and recolouring the nearby vegetation. Too stubborn to die or give in to the fateful horrors beyond the horizon — this man, this epitome of strength, seemed not to be afraid of what lay ahead, but fought to maintain his connection to me at all costs.

Upon his arrival, he was met with a figure, rid of all middle emotions, with skeptical happiness on one end, and misery on the other. But now that he was here, my sick and naked vessel had another reason to go on.

Much like the beginning metaphor of vocal echoes falling on silent ears, my search never did result in a two-way conversation as who I see and how I treat myself, is just easier to explain as two separate people. The reason that no response heeded my call is the same reason the mirror doesn’t speak back to me.

But even with that said, our internal monologue does feel like a dialogue, especially mine since in order to treat myself with warm, positive, and gentle words, it sounds like I’m referring to a different entity. Or more accurately, like I’m referring to a child. And maybe that’s where the empathic tone gets the best nurturing.

Helping myself along the perilous path of life by conversing in a tone that allows for mistakes, shortfalls, and stumbles, I pick myself back up and extend a kind hand to lift my spirits. It sounds almost absurd, but the reality is, that only through treating myself with kindness, could I unify the elements of my character, and overcome serious adversity.

Throughout my experience in life, the negative internal monologue I had years prior, did get stuff done a lot of the time, however, the moment a problem surfaced without an immediate solution, all hell would break loose. And this was no way to treat myself. I’ve found that the best approach is to recognize that I am only human, and I will make mistakes. By truly internalizing that fact, I can prepare myself better to compensate for my short falls, and put my best foot forward.

Every time I looked in the mirror as my treatment continued, the blitz eroded more of my familiarity and left me staring at a blank slate. At first, this was horrifying, looking at myself and seeing nothing of what I fought so hard to achieve until that point. But as I greeted my reflection over and again, even when there wasn’t a shred of familiarity left, I realized that I was looking inward, to the sheer essence of my own character.

I was looking directly at my survival mechanism — the man from the lake — stripped away from all of the niceties that I thought gave me a sense of character.

Every morning, and every evening when I looked in the mirror, I realised, there he stands. Still standing. Despite everything. Still… standing.

Horrors, surgeries, more chemotherapy, hundreds of tests and several brushes with death. Still… standing.

He, I, we, are still standing. Stronger, together.

And with this in mind, so began the turning point in developing a kind and gentle tone that is still with me today.