I’m happy being me. Even on my worst days.
My nerves might be frayed, my emotions raging, I haven’t shown up as I hoped, or shame is pushing me into the darkest corner, and I still wouldn’t want anyone else’s life.
This revelation, I’m happy being me, rushes through my body more regularly now, especially as I near my fourth decade of life. Although I know I’ll never arrive at perfect contentment in my own skin, I’m grateful for the opportunity to stay amazed by the complex experience of being me.
I have jotted down a few reasons for my deepening self-compassion, ideas nudging me towards a gentler, kinder view of the woman I see in the mirror each day.
1. I’m learning to let my life plan transpire organically out of trying things, having fun, and following my curiosities.
Taking directions off someone else’s roadmap, following the unspoken rules of institutions, and listening to the advice of experts eventually breeds frustration. I notice the rub quicker now and recognize when I need to veer down my own path, and set my own pace, even when it may not be the quickest or most efficient route.
Now, when things don’t work out as I may have envisioned, I don’t see it as a roadblock to overcome and push through, but as a welcomed detour leading me towards more beautiful surprises.
2. I’ve stopped believing there is something wrong with me.
I know, and am not afraid to tell you, I don’t have it all together.
We all have secrets we carry and failures we stuff down.
We can love our hidden parts for they make us more nuanced, layered, and interesting. We are all mysteries, even to ourselves.
Instead of always reverting to problem-solving mode, I choose to stay present to myself through every metamorphosis and challenging scene, replacing the language of harsh critique with insightful questions and wonder.
3. And lastly, this more robust self-compassion comes from being proud of how far I’ve come.
I remember when I said it aloud for the first time. It was in response to someone who took it upon themselves to point out a specific area of my life where they thought I was “unhealthy”. With tears in my eyes, I uttered the phrase, “Well, I’m proud of how far I’ve come.”
I stood up for myself, for her, and for all the past me’s.
It’s always good to remind ourselves: No one knows what exactly you’ve been through, how you’ve sometimes clawed and crawled across the dry earth to be able to stand in the place you are today.
We come to a million overlooks and viewpoints throughout our lives, places and times where we can rest, catch our breath, and soak in the surrounding scenery before moving on again. It is here we need to practice embracing all of ourselves and acknowledging just how far we’ve come.
Comment below with which one speaks to you the most!
Also, be sure to check out my list of 10 women-authored, non-fiction books every woman needs on her shelf. I owe much of my growth to their generous wisdom.