I am a paradox. And so are you.
We are clean and shiny in some areas of ourselves, yet disheveled disasters in others. The real estate of our souls and our yards is impeccable from one angle, and painfully unkempt from another.
How is it that we can live with coexisting brilliance and ignorance, with generous nobility and glaring narcissism?
Sometimes, I feel I’m an imposter, like the real me is the messy version, and the times I act right are just glitches, some kind of cosmic error where the light fell just right, and now the world thinks good of me.
But it feels like a balancing act, until I wreck it again.
So who am I? Can I be the bad and the good, at the same time?
Am I summed up in my moments of fear, panic and rejection or in my faith and courage?
Am I a scared, helpless child, wordless with shame, or a ferociously brave teacher who lives to inspire?
Am I all the times I hate to be alone, or the times I am frantic to get away?
Am I the girl who can’t find her keys or the idea-generating leader bent on improving her environment?
Am I the friend you can count on for everything, or the friend who will let you down?
Am I the blessings and encouragement I bestow, or the curses I hiss beneath my breath?
Am I the rage and anger I release on my very last nerve with my child, or am I the patient nurturer, singing this same child to sleep?
Am I the forgiveness I extend or the grudges I feed?
Am I all the times I disappoint or the times I keep my word?
Am I the girl who finds showers annoying or the girl who can’t stand dirty feet?
Am I everything I do right or everything I do wrong?
Am I the desperate woman wanting children I don’t have yet or the grateful mother to the one I do have?
It doesn’t seem possible, but I am all these things. It’s the conundrum of me. I can stop covering it up now, stop holding my breath so people will think of me as cleaned up and together.
The truth is, I am holy and I am full of sin. I am a work in progress. But at this exact moment, I am the good and the bad.
I am all the things I’ve screwed up irreparably, the words I want back, and the genius and generosity in between. I am everywhere I’ve been and everywhere I’m going. I am my failure and my success. I am what I know and what I don’t know. It’s part of me.
I just need to hit “Accept” on all this stuff, on the easy to love and the impossible to love parts of me. Cause it’s all me, and I’m not going anywhere.