I am too much for some. I am not enough for others.
I am a failure in a hundred ways every day, but I think I am victorious at more.
I am loud and opinionated and at times bursting with bravado. Yet a careless word or a cold shoulder brings me to my knees.
I am a mother, a keeper, and a fixer but I am also a child, dazzled by multicolored lights and desperately wanting someone to tell me everything is going to be okay.
I am a rule follower, a stickler for details, yet I am always ten minutes late and perpetually forgetful.
I am the product of my DNA but also of circumstance, of experience, of coincidence, and those who have loved me by choice.
I am forgiving to my own detriment for transgressions committed against me but I am unable to get past wrongs done to those I love.
I am confident in my own skin but I am also plagued with doubt about whether I am the mother, the wife, the daughter, the friend, the person I think I should be.
I am too much coffee, too much chocolate but I am equally whiny that my pants are too tight.
I am pajama pants on Friday night but black tie on Saturday.
I am at once questioning and answering, doubting and believing.
I am all the things and none of the things.
I am even-keeled and chaotic, apathetic and passionate, joyful and melancholy, good and bad. And sometimes I am all those things at the exact same time.
We all are.
And the truth is, we don’t have to be one or the other. We don’t have to define ourselves by a day, by a mood, by a flaw, or a contradiction.
The truth is, it is those very contradictions which make us interesting. Which make life worth living.
We just need to try to do the best we can, with what we can, today.
And today I choose to love hard.