Perfection. This has become something that many strive for in life: the perfect post, the perfect body, the perfect outfit, the perfect significant other. The problem with this is nobody's perfect and everyone's perception of perfection is different. Imperfection is a beautiful thing that should be embraced, not feared. When I think of the word imperfect, I think of dysfunctional. And when I think of the word dysfunctional, I think of my family.

I like to think of my life at home as a reality show. There are seven characters: My mother, my father, my older brother, me, my two younger brothers, and my three year old niece. Going from one day to the next was never the same. Everyone in the house had a job, aside from the three year old, obviously. Our days were filled with cross country and track meets, volleyball games, team dinners, vacations, family outings, singing competitions, and watching Frozen and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 on repeat. On the outside we might seem like the perfect little family, but on the inside we were less than perfect.

Our lives could be extremely stressful at times. My dad travels a lot for work, so he could be gone for a week, sometimes two weeks at a time. My mom's body loves to get sick for almost all of winter which makes her irritable at times. My brothers and I bicker like normal siblings do, however, my middle brother and I, Ryan, argue the most. Even the littlest things will set us off: who drives the car, sharing the bathroom, who watches what on TV. And, of course, us kids push our parents buttons as well. Bad grades usually resulted in grounding or raised voices. Not helping around the house irritated our parents. Coming home on time from a night out with my boyfriend or their girlfriends was expected on the dot. If Dad wanted you home at midnight, you better walk in that house before that clock strikes 12:01.

Family meals were extremely special to us. With our crazy busy schedules we were rarely at home all at the same time. Those nights when we did have family meals were pretty amazing. Those were the nights where all the dysfunctional stuff became funny stories. We would pick fun at each other for our quirks, but all in good fun. And we would laugh until we cry most nights. In those moments, sitting at a table, surrounded by all those I love dearly, I realized the beauty of what is around me.

Our imperfections make us more human. There is nothing wrong with our imperfections, because they make us who we are. The dysfunctional parts of my family as a whole, and individually, makes life so much better. It offers new perspectives and creates fun stories we can tell for years to come. The beautiful part of imperfection is the unconditional love it creates. No matter how many times we argue or how many times something goes wrong, I know that my family will always be there to love and support each other. We are a unit unified by our dysfunctional pieces. We embrace all our quirks and imperfections, and that, to me, is perfect.