Real

Lately, I have been having the most overwhelming amount of flashbacks to 17-year-old me. And a lot of what I remember makes me cringe and shudder. And sad. 

I was 17 and thought I had to be perfect. I had to be the perfect girl, who lived at home and "waited" for the perfect guy. 

Today when I look back, all I see is a girl who tried to squeeze herself into a box that was the wrong size. I squelched my personality to please each individual friend. I said what was proper, regardless if I truly believed it. I smiled when inwardly I felt sad. I swallowed feelings of anger and heartbreak when a "friend" turned her back on me, because the perfect friend never gave up, never became angry. I stayed at home, stomping on the desire to be someone else. I couldn't be anyone else. I had to be perfect. The idea of leaving, doing something differently, going to school...it was terrifying. And I fooled myself into believing that that's not what God had planned for my life. No. His plan was for me to be the perfect girl who waited for the perfect guy so that we could have a perfect wedding, a perfect life, then a perfect family. It would all be perfect. That's what I told myself. But I wasn't perfect. I told myself lies because I was lazy, but mostly because I was scared. I was scared of being real. I was scared of embracing who I really was, scared of admitting what I really wanted, scared of embracing the real desires God had implanted in me. Scared to use the talents He had given me. 

I remember growing up, hearing, "We need to be perfect as Jesus was perfect".  What I failed to understand was that my definition of perfect was different than what God expects of me. The idea I had in my head of "perfection" denied the very person I really was. It was a legalistic idea that had been created by fear and laziness and selfishness. In my pursuit of perfection, I became fake. I denied emotions, hid from dreams, stomped on talents, ignored wonderful opportunities, and wasted precious time. I remember the day perfectly when I wrote in my journal, I feel all wrong and just want to cry but I won't. I don't know what's wrong but I feel awful. God, please just make me happy. For real happy. 

I wasn't happy because I wasn't real. I'm no longer 17 and no longer obsessed with the idea of perfection I had somehow become fixated on. I no longer fight the right to feel emotions, I no longer squelch my talents, or try to make myself happy with what I thought I *should* be called to do. Today I strive to be the best version of me that I can be. I am not perfect, I fail every day...but every day, I try.  In writing my current novel, I found myself re-reading the words I had written: 

"I tried and it was never enough."
"You tried and that will always be enough."
- I Am Real

I fail every day, but the beautiful thing is, every morning I get up and I try again. I'm not trying to be perfect in a way that denies who God made me to be. I am trying to be me, trying to be real. 
And I love it.