It was an orange. That’s all. An orange.

It was an orange that a cute teenage boy handed me on the back of a tractor as we were making our way through the mountains of Belize.

“Try it”, he said “you’ll love it”.

I looked at the orange. I looked back at him. And he gave me one of those smiles that only cute teenage boys can. The kind that said “don’t worry…trust me on this one!”

It all started four days earlier when a group of strangers descended upon a gorgeous villa in the tiny town of Hopkins, Belize for the Reset Retreat. We arrived at all hours of the night and came from every different direction.

We were all there for different reasons…but the reasons didn’t really matter. What mattered was that we were there.

What mattered was that we had taken time off of work. We had dug into our savings accounts. We had left our spouses to single parent our children.

And while all of those things can feel a bit uncomfortable at the time…we did it. We did what needed to be done to bring us to this place. And that’s what mattered. Because, so often, we don’t do those things. So often, we know what we need in order to thrive…to feel healthy…to chase our dreams. But those things get buried under a pile of bills…of homework…of business assignments…until eventually, you’re left staring at a teenage boy – wondering if he’s trying to trick you into eating poisonous citrus fruit!

So that’s how I ended up with the orange; we were making our way through a grove and this boy picked it off the tree and threw it across to me…radiating with pride as we fell in love with the scenery.

But when he suggested I try the orange…I wasn’t so sure. I glanced over at one of the other girls with a perplexed expression on my face and wondered what to do next.

Normally, I would eat an orange if someone handed it to me.

But this orange didn’t look like it should be eaten. This orange was tough and all discoloured. This orange wasn’t really orange at all. Honestly – at first glance – I assumed the season had past and these were left over fruits, rotting on the tree.

I looked up at our guide again and he laughed under his breath. “I promise…they’re good!!” he assured me.

And as I sat there, peeling away at this orange in the middle of the Belizean jungle…I had to wonder; how many times had I judged myself the exact same way? How many times had I questioned my own internal goodness because I felt flawed on the outside? How many times did I worry more about showing the perfect outer layer than an inside that mattered?

The truth is…more times than I would like to admit.

Because somehow, I had come to believe that if I get the outside “right”…then no one will notice the inside.

I had come to believe that if I vacuum my house enough times a day…and ensure my hair looks decent…and put the right filter on my Instagram photos…and finish those cupcakes on time for the school party…and workout six times a week…and never eat anything with refined sugar in it…and and and…if I can just do all of that; then maybe no one will notice just how messy everything is on the inside.

And messy can feel scary for me. Because messy means admitting that I sometimes feel like the only person in the world who doesn’t have everything figured out. It means admitting that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing most of the time. It means admitting that – even with 32,000 beautiful followers – I often struggle to feel like I belong. It means admitting that all I really want is a chocolate chip cookie and a nap instead of going for a run.

But admitting these things also made me wonder; if the quest for perfection is my new sickness…could peeling back the layers be the cure?

And we did a lot of that Belize. We did a lot of baring our souls and feeling exposed. We did a lot of truth telling and tear shedding. We did a lot of falling to our knees and raising our hands to the stars.

And you know what?

There was no judgment. There was no rejection. There was no advice on how to make the outside prettier.

Instead, there was a big pile of messy things in the middle of a room and a bunch of people who didn’t feel alone.

Also, I ate the best orange I’ve ever had in my life!

It dripped down my arms…the peel stained my finger nails…my hands were sticky…and it was perfect! It was a mess…and it was perfect.

And so it is with life.

Because life is messy. All of those struggles and feelings and insecurities are messy. Relationships are messy. Being human is messy. Working through it all is messy.

And it’s also perfect…in its own imperfect way.

But I realized that if I’m too busy trying to perfect the outside…then I miss the opportunity to be messy with other people. I miss the chance to throw my own stuff in the pile and witness what a beautiful mess it all creates. I miss the moment to peel back the layers and discover that I’m not alone.

I realized that I could have missed the best orange I’ve ever had in my life…