I have been accused of thinking this about myself numerous times, so I thought I’d reflect. Hopefully I can do so calmly.
You accuse me of thinking I’m perfect every time I voice a concern or care
Bring up every bad thing I have ever done in my entire life, even throwing in some made-up ones, for extra measure.
Never see that my concerns come from a place of love, no matter how politely they’re stated, you blow up in a fit of rage when placed under the slightest of pressure.
I have a past I’ve tried to bury of addiction, despair and depression
Where I never said no, didn’t know my own self-worth, and at times didn’t care if I went on living.
Reaching adulthood and having children changed most of that,
but do you really think its been smooth sailing from there to here? That I don’t think deeply about the advice I’m giving?
To you family keeps silent as you slip deeply down, because to say anything is judging, to speak out is to attack, abusive relationships and self-degradation are simply cycles your just repeating and who am I to suggest things can be different?
I think I’m perfect because I use vocabulary that consists of words longer than four letters, though anyone who knows me knows I use plenty of those as well.
I think I’m perfect, but really I am a bad, horrible person who can only be judged by things my teenage self did, and of course since I am an atheist I can never repent – so I am going to hell as well, swell!
I think I’m perfect because I don’t post every bad thing that happens on social media for the entire world to dissect, I don’t seek comfort or validation online.
I think I’m perfect because my current flaws are perhaps not as apparent as the flaws and dysfunction of my youth? Because I strive every day to be better, to do better, to create a better life and refuse to allow my children to be surrounded by chaos. I can’t protect them from life, but when I can protect them I will.
Its ironic when I get accused of thinking I’m perfect during times when I’m drowning in insecurities. Superficial things like my fat belly, stretch marks, large pores on my face. Less superficial things like feeling unlovable, questioning my ability to be the mother my children deserve, feeling hopeless or like my goals are so far out of reach.
I am perfect. Perfect in my humanity. Perfectly flawed, scarred, wounded, insecure, scared, lonely, struggling, but always striving and I am done apologizing.
Done apologizing for the tears I’ve shed over the abuse I’ve witnessed. Apologizing for wanting better for the next generation than the life we had. Apologizing for having standards, apologizing for having an opinion, apologizing for having as high if not higher expectations for the ones I love than I do for complete strangers.