Somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture from my 11th birthday.

My friends and I were all crammed on the single set of monkey bars that were behind our row of townhouses. The paint was chipping off the metal bars…the neighbors watched from their own adjoining backyards…and we laughed. My Mom stood back in the grass under an overcast day while the ten of us scrambled to keep our gangly limbs from dropping to a tiny patch of concrete below.

Somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture of a perfect moment. My perfect moment.

For as long as I can remember, there has been a tension inside of me between who I am and who I want to be. There has been a struggle…a pull…a battle that I could never quite resolve. It was there when I was eleven years old…it was there for the twenty years that followed…it was there every day in between.

It was there telling me that the person I was would never be as good as the person I wanted to be. The person I thought I should be.

I wanted to be popular. I wanted to be noticed. I wanted to be asked to prom. I wanted bigger boobs and I wanted smaller thighs. I wanted the boy that broke my heart to tell me he was sorry and I wanted the girl that tormented me to tell me she was wrong. I wanted long, luscious locks that didn’t have a mind of their own. I wanted to be a world-class athlete. I wanted to feel pretty. I wanted to be delicate and I wanted to wear pretty dresses. I wanted to eat chocolate without feeling guilty and I wanted to wear shorts without feeling ashamed. I wanted skin that didn’t have freckles and I wanted a laugh that didn’t show off my teeth. I wanted to be able to sing and I wanted to soar. I wanted narrower hips and I wanted wider experiences. I wanted phone calls from friends and I wanted dates on Friday night.

I wanted to matter.

And I remember – during my 11th birthday – feeling that way for a little while.

As friends joined to celebrate the day…as I ate cake with reckless abandon…as I thought about the year to come. I forgot for a brief moment that any part of me was lacking.

Somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture of me feeling that way.

This time of year always makes me feel nostalgic. A new year is just around the corner and for me, it has always felt like an opportunity for renewal…this hope for authenticity…this chance to try – one more time – at “getting it right”. My goal, as each year passed, was to lessen that gap between who I am and who I thought I needed be. I was convinced that the more “right” I became…the less isolation I would feel.

If you had asked me – at this same time last year – if I still carried this desperation around with me…I would have said no. I would have told you that – with age – I had stopped even thinking about it…that I had grown out of it. And honestly, I believed that to be true at the time.

But it’s been a tricky year for me. It’s been an even trickier last few months for me.

It’s been a year of letting people in…and of letting people go. It’s been a year of feeling invisible …and being fully seen. It’s been a year of finding my own security…and discovering other people’s lack of it. It’s been a year of healing old wounds…and of finding new cracks.

And all of it has made me realize that, perhaps, I wasn’t over it at all…I had simply found new measuring sticks with which to determine my worth; my skills as a parent…the pictures I took…the number of Instagram followers I had.

And here’s the thing…

They never added up. Which meant that – given the philosophy of life I had subjected myself to for so long – I never added up.

And it recently hit me. Like a bulldozer. Like ten thousand pounds of unbearable truth knocking the wind out of me all at once. And when a bulldozer hits you…the harsh reality is that you’re out of commission. You’re done. It’s over. There is nothing left to do but let yourself be crushed by what is real.

And the truth is, I’m just not one of the cool kids. I’m not a china doll that is easily dressed up and I’m not a handful of flawless features. But I am a great friend with freckles and ruthless curls. I am not the girl that all of the boys liked in school…but I am the girl that one boy – the very best boy – loves for life. I am not an athlete that the world will remember…but I will write a book one day that will change your life. I’m not someone who pulls off red lipstick very well and sometimes my past hurts like hell. But I don’t leave my impressions with my lips…I leave it with my heart…and sometimes I leave it behind in pieces. I’m not the girl that stands out in a crowd for being pretty…but I am the very definition of beauty for two little souls that see nothing but magic when I walk in a room. I’m not the girl with perfect legs…but I am the girl who runs out the weight of the world on the pavement every single day. I’m not the girl with the most ‘likes’ or the most followers…but I am the girl that took a leap of faith in honour of her dreams. I’m not necessarily the person that people notice…but I am the person that God chose.

And as I enjoy these last couple of weeks before another year rolls around, the truth is, that it won’t be done this time determined to make things different…or hoping for change…or trying to be “more”.

Because the biggest truth of all is that somewhere – floating around in this world – is a picture of me on my 11th birthday…being the only thing I’ve ever needed to be…

photo credit: www.lastfortypercent.com | The Last Forty Percent Photography