I’m Not Perfect, I’m Broken.

For so long, I chased perfection. Measured, graded, and compared. An “A” meant I was exceptional, and anything less whispered not good enough.

School taught that success was numbers on a page. From there, competition became the norm. If you’re not winning, you’re losing. If you’re not first, you’re forgotten. If you’re not whole you’re broken.

It didn’t stop there. Perfection followed me into womanhood, the perfect wife, the perfect mother perfect daughter.  If things fall apart, it must be my fault…

Don’t get me wrong—doing your best matters. But in whose eyes are we setting these standards? Who decides what “perfect” is?

The color of your skin, the size of your waist, the texture of your hair so many standards decided before our time, and yet they still determine if we are good enough.  Listening to the lies of perfection define who is celebrated and who is overlooked.

Those standards are handed to us before we can even form our own. We inherit expectations we never agreed to, yet we carry the weight of them as if our worth depends on meeting them.

To be perfect in society’s eyes often looks like success you can show off, achievements you can measure, or appearances you can compare.

But it’s  not about checking boxes. It’s not about fitting into someone else’s mold. It’s not a destination.

It’s being at peace with yourself. It’s living with integrity. It’s knowing you’re worth even when the world questions it. It’s accepting the cracks, the scars, and the lessons, and still choosing to see yourself as enough.

TO BE BROKEN IS OFTEN THE BEGINNING OF BECOMING.

A seed has to break open before it takes root. Soil must be torn apart to make way for growth. The sky splits with storms before the rainbow appears. Even dawn begins with the breaking of night.

Stained glass has to be shattered before it can be pieced into art. A diamond is cut before it shines. The earth breaks open so water can spring forth. And even our hearts crack wide so love has room to enter.

Nothing in life will ever be perfect. Living  by shifting rules, will always make you feel like you’re failing.

So I admit, I’M NOT PERFECT! I’m broken and my brokenness is beautiful!

I have cracks and scars and flaws and I will wear them with pride!

We are all broken. We are all scarred. But broken does not mean ruined. Nothing and no one will ever be perfect.

I’m not perfect. I may never have it all figured out. But I am still whole, still beautiful. Because my brokenness made me who I am. And that is more than enough!