I am 36-years-old today.
I sit here thinking I should feel differently by now.
Shouldn’t I be wiser? Shouldn’t I be ultra comfortable in my own skin? Shouldn’t I be calm and serene? Shouldn’t I at least like myself a little bit?
And then I think to myself that is exactly what my problem is these days.
My stupid, unrealistic expectations.
Who says you have to be wise by now? Who says you have to be calm? Who says I have to be perfect?
Me. And that’s the problem.
As a present to myself, I’m really going to work on letting go of my expectations and unrealistic ideals that I hold myself to. I want to like myself for the first time in all of my 36 years.
Big zit in the middle of your forehead? Happens to everyone. Gained some weight and your clothes are a little tight? It happens; you’ll work on it. House isn’t clean? The dirt will still be there tomorrow. Students that don’t give a shit and are failing your class? One teacher can only do so much. Gabe’s emotional and a little argumentative? Hug him tighter and be confident he knows you’re there for him. Olivia’s still not potty-trained at home? Keep trying. Mathew didn’t get enough attention today? He did and he knows you love him. You haven’t had any time alone with Matt in ages? Just hang out on porch drinking some wine tonight. The laundry is piled up? The kids don’t really need it folded and put away in their drawers anyway. Hot dogs and processed crap for dinner one night? Everyone will live. Not a lot of extra money in the budget each month? We’re doing better than most. New wrinkles around your mouth? You’re alive.
Easier said than done, I know. But I’m working on it. Really working on it. And I think it just be the best gift I’ve ever given to myself.
To just be and know that I am truly who I’m supposed to be and that is enough.