I made a wish today—a simple one. I wished I could experience a day where I see myself the way others do. My partner, David, often tells me how wonderful I am as a wife and mother, yet all I see is the disarray of our home. My friends describe me as nurturing and kind, but I constantly feel like I’m not doing enough. My children think I’m fun, but they often rush to their dad as soon as he walks in the door.
Perfection eludes me; I’m nowhere near it, and it frustrates me to no end. I can’t stand how I look on a typical day—my appearance feels like a constant battle. My makeup routine is practically nonexistent, and I often find myself in the same worn jeans, which now sag in all the wrong places. My purse is a chaotic mess, filled with useless items, while my calendar is cluttered with events I can’t even recall. Juggling so many tasks leaves me feeling like nothing gets accomplished because I’m overwhelmed and unfocused. And my hair? Let’s not even go there. I color it every shade of purple just to mask its wildness. Add lupus into the mix—a chronic condition I have no control over—and it feels like I’m living in total disarray.
I’ve reached a point where I no longer hide my imperfections. I don’t bother wearing nice clothes or makeup anymore. I’ve even found humor in my chaos, playfully admitting things like, “Girl, of course, I don’t have it all together!” or “Can you believe it? I’m just glad my kids ate today and we’re almost on time for once.” My life feels like a perpetual moment of tripping over a sidewalk crack, exaggerating my stumble to play it off as a jog.
It’s a constant struggle, and it’s taking a toll on my self-esteem. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why is it that we focus solely on our flaws and overlook our strengths? Why can’t we embrace our imperfections as part of who we are? I’ve always had this insatiable urge to excel, whether in beauty, intelligence, or health. Yet, I often feel crushed by the thought of being less than perfect. I notice every flaw and dimple with painful awareness, and I resent the limitations of my abilities.
Despite my internal battles, I hear affirmations from others: “You’re incredible!” “You’re brilliant!” “You’re beautiful.” But those words don’t resonate with me.
For just one day, I wish to believe them. I want to glance in the mirror and think, “You’re beautiful.” I long for conversations where I feel genuinely intelligent. I yearn to perform acts of kindness that help others feel less alone in their struggles. After a tough day with my children, I hope to collapse into bed without the nagging thought that tomorrow must be better. I want to hear my husband say, “You’re beautiful,” and not question his sincerity. I want to accept my kids’ praise of “You’re the best mommy ever!” after a simple grilled cheese sandwich without worrying about my shortcomings.
For just one day, I wish to see myself through their eyes—imperfectly perfect, simply wonderful as I am. Perhaps tomorrow will be that day.
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