Today, I made a simple wish: to see myself as others do, if just for a day. My partner, Jason, often tells me I’m a fantastic wife and mother, but all I can see is the chaos of our home. My friends insist that I’m kind and empathetic, yet I constantly feel like I’m falling short, wishing I could do more. My children describe me as fun, but I can’t help but notice them running to Jason the moment he walks through the door.
Perfection feels like a distant dream—one I can’t grasp. I’m plagued by the reality of my appearance; I often feel disheveled. My makeup routine has vanished, and I find myself recycling the same pair of jeans until they sag. My purse is a jumble of unnecessary items, while my calendar is filled with obligations I struggle to remember. I’m juggling countless responsibilities, yet nothing gets accomplished because I can’t figure out where to begin. And my hair? Let’s just say it’s a canvas of colorful chaos, as I’ve taken to dyeing it various shades of blue to disguise its unruliness. To top it all off, dealing with lupus, a chronic condition I can’t control, adds to the feeling of disorder.
I’ve reached a point where I no longer try to hide my imperfections. I don’t bother getting dressed up or wearing makeup. I even joke with friends about my struggles, saying things like, “Of course I don’t have it together!” or “I’m just thrilled my kids are fed and we’re almost on time!” My life often feels like that awkward moment when you stumble on the sidewalk and, instead of recovering gracefully, you exaggerate the fall to play it off as a clumsy jog.
This constant feeling of inadequacy is bruising my self-esteem. Why do we fixate on our flaws while overlooking our strengths? Why do we endlessly strive for improvement and perfection? Why is it so hard to embrace our imperfections as unique traits that make us who we are?
I’ve always had a competitive spirit, yearning to excel in everything. I aim to be beautiful, intelligent, and healthy, yet I often feel crushed by the weight of my own expectations. I notice every imperfection, every flaw, and it’s agonizing. I resent myself for not being able to do it all, but even as I wrestle with self-doubt, I hear others say, “You’re wonderful!” “You’re smart!” “You’re beautiful!” Yet, I struggle to believe them.
For just one day, I want to experience the truth of their words. I want to walk past a mirror and genuinely think, “You’re beautiful.” I want to engage in a conversation and feel smart. I want to do something remarkable for others so they don’t have to feel alone in their struggles. I long for a day when, after a challenging time with the kids, I don’t lie in bed thinking, “Tomorrow, I’ll try again.”
I hope for that moment when Jason says, “You’re beautiful,” and I can accept it without suspicion. I want to embrace my children’s declarations of me being the “best mommy ever” after I’ve made them a simple grilled cheese sandwich, without dwelling on my perceived shortcomings as a mother.
For one day, I just wish to see myself through their eyes—imperfectly perfect and wonderful just as I am. Perhaps tomorrow will be that day.