I made a wish today. I wished that for one day I would be able to see myself through other people’s eyes.
My husband says I’m a wonderful wife and mother, but I only see a messy and chaotic home.
My friends say I’m caring and compassionate, but I only wish I could help and do more.
My kids say I’m fun, but I only see them running to my husband when he gets home.
I’m not perfect. I’m so so so far from perfect and I can’t stand it.
I can’t stand that I look horrible on a daily basis, my appearance is haphazard at best. I can’t stand that my face isn’t always made up and that I wear the same clothes day in and day out. My jeans are the same pair I’ve worn for a few days and now the butt is sagging and making it even more evident that nothing on my body is toned. My purse is full of crap I don’t need. My calendar full of stuff I can’t remember. My focus on a million different things at once meaning absolutely nothing gets done because I don’t have a clue where I should start. My hair….oh dear Lord…don’t talk about my hair. I color it fifty shades of purple just to make its unruly look seems to be on purpose. Add to the mix lupus (a chronic illness that I can’t control) and it’s just a catastrophic disaster.
I’m a mess and it devastates me.
I’ve come to the point where I don’t hide that I’m not perfect. I don’t attempt to put on nice clothes. I stopped wearing make up completely. I brag that I’m not perfect by telling people, “Girl…of course I don’t have it together” or “Say what? I’m lucky my kids were fed and we’re almost on time today.” My life is constantly playing on a loop the moment when you trip over a crack in the sidewalk in front of people and instead of turning around to see where the crack was you over exaggerate your trip to make it seem as if though you were trying to jog to your destination.
I’m a constant trip and it’s bruising my ego.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we each see only our flaws and not our highlights? Why are we constantly wanting to do better and more? Why are we not able to accept our imperfections and see them as what makes us us?
I’m never content with where I’m at for very long. I want to be the best in everything. I’ve been that way since I was a child. I want to win. I want to succeed. I want to be pretty. I want to be smarter. I want to be better. I want to be healthy. Instead, I just feel devastation at second place. I notice every bump and cellulite dimple with agony. I always see what I didn’t understand or couldn’t do. I am physically forced to accept that I can’t do everything and I resent myself for it.
But still, while I suffer with self-doubt and self-loathing I hear people say, “You’re great!” “You’re smart!” ”You’re beautiful.”
And I’ve never believed them.
So, for one day, I just want to know what they’re saying is true.
I want to walk past a mirror and think, “You’re beautiful.” I want to have a conversation and feel smart. I want to do something spectacular to help people so that they don’t have to suffer alone. I want to have a day where, after a particularly rough day with the kids, I don’t lay in bed and think, “Tomorrow I’ll do better.”
I want that moment when my husband says, “you’re beautiful” for me not to think he’s lying for brownie points.
I want to believe my boys when they say, “you’re the best mommy ever!” because I made a grilled cheese sandwich and for me not to think about everything I’ve failed at as a mother already.
For one day… I just want to see me in their eyes.
Wonderful as is.
Maybe tomorrow will be that day.