I hate that feeling some of us grew up with that we’re not good enough, that we need to try harder, harder, harder to be perfect. To become acceptable. To become lovable.
I believe my friends know my flaws, but probably no single friend knows them all. Each one has a glimpse into my neuroses and insecurities, but only collectively they would have the whole picture. I envy people who have that one person in their lives who knows all their flaws and loves them anyway; who doesn’t keep those flaws handy in a box nearby, ready to be hurled at the first sign of an argument, using them like a defense shield just to protect himself (or herself) from feeling too vulnerable.
My best friend recently said she’ll be devastated when her father passes away because he’s the only person in the world who still thinks she’s perfect. What a beautifully safe and loved feeling that must be. I can’t relate, but I can imagine. The very thought of it smells to me like home-cooked muffins and feels like warm sunshine on my skin.
So this is where I say f* it. Nobody thinks I’m perfect anyway, what’s the point of trying so hard to hide my flaws? So here they are:
I am terrified of trusting someone and having that trust broken, and that makes me hypervigilant and overly analytical of the behaviour of those who are closest to me. It’s exhausting.
I want to be the most important person in the world to somebody – just one person – and sometimes that makes me act like a crazy jealous person.
Sometimes when I’m hurt, I hurt back.
Sometimes I’m passive aggressive. Other times I’m just flat out aggressive.
Sometimes I can’t find the courage to say “I’m scared” and it comes out as tears. Sometimes that happens a lot.
I’m not a good daughter. I’m tired of being let down by my family, so I have given up on trying to make them happy.
I’m pretty selfish. Except not really. Except I am.
I am so unsure of myself, I have trouble making decisions about even the smallest things sometimes.
Sometimes I do things that I know are bad for me, just because I want to and because I’m so tired of trying to do everything right all the time.
I get nervous speaking in groups because I don’t want anybody to not like me.
I beat myself up constantly for not being a more level-headed person; a more self-sufficient, not-needing-others person.
I keep almost everyone at a distance so that I don’t risk letting them down or being let down by them.
I lie. Not often, but not never.
I resent when people talk about themselves all the time.
I’m a feminist, but I want a man to fix my broken faucet and mow my lawn and put his big strong arms around me and tell me everything’s going to be ok.
When I’m most scared and need most to be held, I push people away the hardest. Then I panic that they’ll leave, so I hang on too tight.
I like being in control of situations because then they feel less scary. But yes, that makes me controlling.
If I could get away with stealing (not from a person, but from a store), I would probably do it.
If I could have gotten away with murder in the past, I would have done it.
I feel like a more worthy person when I’m skinny. But I never feel skinny enough.
I am judgemental. I try not to be, but I am.
I am a little bit racist. I try not to be, but I am.
I’m inherently lazy.
I am addicted to sugar.
There. I’m sure there’s more, but that’s all I can think of right now. I am flawed, I know that I am, but I am also a good and loving person and I deserve to be loved whole-heartedly. I know I’m not always an easy person to love, but I don’t need to be reminded of that and I certainly don’t need it to be amplified. Goodness knows I already live under my own giant microscope.
At the end of the day, I just want someone to know all my flaws but still look at me like I am the greatest gift in the world to them. Am I crazy for thinking that’s possible?