I found myself wishing today for the ability to see myself as others do, even if just for a single day. My partner, Alex, often tells me I’m an amazing spouse and parent, yet all I see is the clutter and disorder around me. My friends describe me as thoughtful and empathetic, but I constantly feel the urge to do more. My children, on the other hand, see me as fun, yet they often dash to their father the moment he walks through the door.
I know I’m not perfect—far from it, in fact—and that realization can be overwhelming. The truth is, I struggle with my appearance daily; my look is often haphazard at best. The same pair of jeans has been my go-to for days, and now they sag, emphasizing how little I’ve managed to tone my body. My purse is filled with unnecessary items, my calendar is a blur of forgotten appointments, and my attempts to juggle a myriad of tasks often lead to nothing getting done. And let’s not even get started on my hair, which I dye in a riot of colors just to give the impression that the chaos is intentional. Add my ongoing battle with lupus—a chronic illness that I can’t control—and it feels like my life is a never-ending disaster.
I’ve reached a point where I don’t bother to hide my imperfections anymore. I’ve given up on wearing nice outfits or makeup. I find myself jokingly admitting, “Of course I don’t have it all together” or “Honestly, I’m just glad my kids are fed and we’re almost on time today.” My life resembles that moment when you stumble on a sidewalk crack; instead of simply moving on, I exaggerate the fall to make it seem like I was sprinting.
This endless cycle of self-doubt is bruising my self-esteem. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we focus solely on our flaws rather than our strengths? Why do we constantly strive for more? Why can’t we accept our imperfections as part of what makes us unique?
I’ve always had this drive to excel. Since childhood, I’ve wanted to be the best—whether in looks, intelligence, or health. Yet, I feel defeated by the reality of being second best. I notice every bump and imperfection with despair, always fixating on what I couldn’t achieve. I’m painfully aware that I can’t do it all, and I resent myself for it.
Despite my internal struggles, I hear people say, “You’re amazing!” “You’re smart!” “You’re beautiful!” Yet, I’ve never truly accepted those compliments.
For just one day, I long to believe their words are genuine. I want to stroll past a mirror and genuinely think, “You’re beautiful.” I wish to engage in conversation and feel intelligent. I desire to accomplish something meaningful that helps others feel less isolated. After a challenging day with the kids, I hope to rest without the nagging thought that “Tomorrow I’ll do better.” I want to hear my partner say, “You’re beautiful” and actually believe him, not dismiss it as flattery. I want to embrace the moments when my kids call me “the best mommy ever” simply because I made them a grilled cheese sandwich, without dwelling on past mistakes.
For just one day, I want to see myself as they do—imperfectly perfect and wonderful just as I am. Perhaps tomorrow will be that day.
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Summary
This reflective piece delves into the author’s struggle with self-perception and the pressure of perfectionism in motherhood and personal life. Despite receiving compliments from loved ones, the author battles feelings of inadequacy and yearns to see herself through their supportive eyes, embracing her unique imperfections.