“Do not call me perfect, a lie is never a compliment. Call me an erratic, damaged, and insecure mess. Then tell me that you love me for it.” – Beau Taplin
Perfection isn’t real, yet many of us chase it, cultivate it, strive to create it. We pose our families for photos that appear perfect even though moments before we were yelling at our partner or our children. Why do we spend so much time and energy in pursuit of what does not exist? If we could look behind the scenes, wouldn’t we all feel a little better? Knowing that everyone was as messy as we were?
I personally love me a good mess. Any of you who have actually been in my home know that. I am not all neat and tidy, my house is often messy. Not dysfunctional, but lived in. That’s how I love my souls too, lived it. I love messy, imperfect, messed up people. They are my favorite. The ones who will sit with me and unpack their mess with me, I love them.
What I wish we could all grow comfortable with, is sharing our discomfort. Taking off our makeup and our masks and presenting ourselves, unapologetically, as the delightfully messy humans that we are. What a relief that would be! You may think I’m beautiful, the version of me that I present to you, but my insides are a mess. And you know what, they are beautiful too. My outside is a reflection of my inside. I think the messed up parts of me are the most real parts of me. They are my truth, my strength, my light and the best reflection of my creation.
I was not created to be perfect, neither were you. Where is the grace in perfection? Where is the lesson? The lesson is always in the mess; the mess is the magic.
My encouragement to all of you is to look inside your mess. Crack it open and examine it, then don’t hurry to cover it up. Leave it exposed. Let it show. It’s beautiful, and real and human. It gives all of us permission to be real too. Your mess is beautiful and so are you! How much do you love genuine people who don’t apologize for the messiness that is inside them? Those people. Are my people.
