Perfectly Imperfect

I have carried a lot of questionable stories about myself most of my life. Stories I took for the truth. Stories of my worth. Stories of who I am as a person. Stories of what I am capable of. What I can and can't do.

Here in year 39 I am becoming acutely aware of the amount of bullshit I believe about myself that isn't true at all. I am reexamining my stories. Taking each one and holding it. Inspecting it. Asking myself, "Is this true?" (Thank you Byron Katie) Who told you that? Why do you believe that?

I am coming to terms with my own truth. Finding the stories that no longer work for me. Seeing them for the over sized cloaks they are and slipping out of them with as much grace as I can. I am dropping  the unmanageable bags full of shit that I have insisted on carrying for close to 40 years. I am letting go. Slowly. Surely. Imperfectly.

I am embracing what I know is real. I am loving myself as I am. I am enjoying these moments of growth and clarity. Beloved, I am embracing my perfectly imperfect self. It has given me a clarity I have never had before. I have come to understand that sometimes we just need to set things down, simply because they are heavy.

I am looking my vulnerability in the face and seeing it's beauty. I desire to share more of it with the world as scary as that might be. It is exquisite. There is strength here imperfect as it may be. I am seeing myself for the first time.