Perfection Is Overrated
I have a confession to make:
Sometimes I leave a pile of clean laundry on a chair in my bedroom. Unfolded. For days.
And sometimes I put on my running clothes but instead of running I go get a muffin and a latte.
And sometimes I crawl back under the covers instead of getting my to-do list accomplished.
And sometimes I use a snarky tone with my husband when he doesn’t deserve it.
And sometimes I let my kids eat McDonald’s.
And sometimes I eat ice cream and watch the Real Housewives.
And sometimes I feel jealous of people who are extremely stylish, or fit, or talented.
And sometimes I drink one too many glasses of wine.
And sometimes I say stupid things that I regret.
The point I’m trying to make here is that I’m not perfect. None of us are perfect. But I think sometimes as women, we set impossibly high standards for ourselves. We’re trying to be good mothers and attractive women and successful professionals and we’re trying to do all of it, all the time. It’s exhausting.
I wanna be okay with not being perfect. There’s beauty in imperfection. The second we can admit that we’re not perfect, we can give ourselves permission to focus on the important stuff.
I may not be the most perfect mother in the world, but I am privileged to have two extraordinary children to spend my time with. And I may not be in the best shape, but I am deeply loved by my husband and my family. And I may not be the most successful person but I have remarkable friendships with radiant women.
I’m a mom, a wife, a friend, an artist. And I’m doing my best. Every day. Just like we all are. What we all need to remember is that our best is completely and totally good enough.
Perfection is overrated.