You are imperfect.

Swallow it. Chew on it. Digest it, because it’s true.

You have flaws.

You probably already know that. I would bet that you think about them all the time; I know I do.

When I look at a picture of myself, I don’t see beauty; I mark its absence. I have a lopsided-smile, and one of my eyes crinkles more than the other, giving me a deranged look. My eyebrows are too friendly, and my skin is too sensitive. My face is not the shape I wish it were.

I obsess over my mistakes and my flaws. When I lose track of time or my phone or my money or my life, my stomach drops out and my insides become a pit of despair and panic.

I am a chronic failure, and it scares me.

I’m bad at QTM. I’m bad at debating. People wear me out. I’m not all that disciplined, and I have a tendency to be late. When my faults compound, and I have a bad day, I freak out about all the mistakes I’ve made and all the mistakes I’m going to make, and then I wonder why the hell anyone puts me in charge of anything.

I thought life was about becoming a better person, becoming perfect, but the truth is, I can’t do it.

I am forever making errors in judgment, errors in life. There are so many things wrong with me; I could talk about them all day, and it hurts. It hurts to know that I can’t handle myself, that there will always be parts of myself that I don’t like and will never change, but I need to.

I need to talk about the parts of me I’m not proud of, not in order to improve, but in order to accept who I am.

I lose my shit a lot, both literally and figuratively. OK, not literally. I don’t actually misplace my excrement on a regular basis, but I do lose all of my stuff all of the time, especially when I’m stressed and I can’t think straight. This past week, I lost both sets of keys, my glasses, and my purse within twenty-fours. I found all four objects within the same period of time, all of which I’d lost separately and spread across campus, but in the initial moment when I realized that I’d lost my keys, I was already late for something and furious.

I think everyone has moments of internal frustration, moments of self-directed anger, but usually it’s silent.

I didn’t realize it until afterwards, but when I realized I’d lost my keys, I spent twenty minutes yelling at myself. It was out loud, and it was fervent, and my neighbors are probably still deciding whether to be upset with me or afraid of me. I was just so mad that I’d lost my keys again, especially at a time when I needed them. I felt like I’d failed myself AGAIN, and I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t ‘just get it together’ and be the perfect person I needed myself to be. Why can’t I just remember where I put things? Am I really asking myself for so much?

The answer to that question would be yes, because guess what? I suck at keeping track of things. I do! I would lose my nose if it weren’t permanently attached to my face. Pretending otherwise doesn’t help me. Pretending nothing’s wrong with me won’t change the fact that there most definitely are quite a few things wrong with me.

I have problems; I’ll admit it openly. In fact, I need to. I need to come to terms with the parts of myself I’d rather rip out, and I need to forgive myself those things. I need to swallow the disappointment I feel when I screw up, or when I look in a mirror, because if I can’t accept myself than I can’t trust someone else to.

If I can’t value who I am, I can’t be myself with other people.

If I can’t love me then I’ll never let anyone else get close enough to.

You are imperfect. You have scars and bruises and faults. You may have yellow teeth, or an extra toe, or you may just really suck at something. I feel that. Everyone has trouble with something, and it’s OK. The things that you struggle with are the things that make you an individual.

So don’t hide your warts. Don’t hide the parts of yourself that embarrass you, because you have nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe you aren’t everything you always wanted to be, but no one is. The sooner you accept the things about yourself that aren’t pretty, the sooner you can love who you are, and nothing is more important.

Loving yourself allows you to become who you are meant to be. It allows you to bloom in your own estimation. It allows you to live a fuller life and express your true identity.

It also means appreciating the things in yourself that may drive you crazy. It is so hard to appreciate my losing everything all the time, but it can be a good thing. I am really exceptional at finding things, and it’s because I’ve had a lot of practice. Also, I am a good person to have around in a stressful situation. I cause enough of my own problems that I’m almost used to panic, and throughout the crises of others, I am a voice of reason.

I love that I can use my ineptitude to help others deal with theirs. It’s something about myself that I really cherish, and I don’t think I would trade that skill in for all of the organized, straight-forward days in the world.

You are imperfect, but you are also beautiful. Gather up the things about yourself that you don’t like and love them, because those flaws make you who you are. Those flaws are what make you a mutually-dependent member of humanity, a cut-out puzzle piece that only forms a picture when combined with others.

You are imperfect, but you should be glad. Your imperfections are what make you fit; they are what make you loveable. The sooner you can forgive yourself for your problems, the sooner you can be who you are meant to be, and shine.

Forgive yourself. Let go of all the stress you’ve put yourself through. Holding on to all your guilt and disappointment will only make it more difficult to grow.

You might be imperfect, but there is never anything wrong with being you. Forgive yourself for the things that make you an individual, and wear them proudly. You can only stand to grow by being yourself without fear.