I am not perfect, far from it.
I have my flaws. I am stubborn, I am passionate, I am selfish. I am human.
I know my imperfections sometimes flow up to the surface and make me hard to live with, so says my husband and probably silently says my children.
For example, I can not stand clutter. It make me physically ill. And I am married to a man who is less than organized and even when I have washed, folded, and put his clothes in a place where he can get them, he still throws his suits on the chair, leaves dirty socks all around, and has more papers than there are trees. My beautiful daughters are the messiest creatures I have ever met in life, my little fashionista leaves a mountain of clothes and I can rant and rave, and they are still there. I turn into a mean momma at those moments.
In my imperfections, I also am passionate about the people in my life, about being authentic, and living a full life. I learned in over 16 years with my husband that I have to just accept a bit of clutter, my home is not a showpiece, and no amount of buying storage bins or doing his laundry is going to change him. He is not as bad as the horders (to a point!) and is a good provider and father, so I have to give him a pass. I am trying to raise my girls, as I did my boys, to not be slovenly, that no one ever wants to live with anyone who does not know how to clean their own bathroom, clean their kitchen, and take care of their laundry - the basics.
I have to get away from things, at times, to gain a different perspective. Living with people takes sacrifice and sometimes more grace than the mornings coffee will allow.
I am not perfect, I am human, and I have flaws. I am also caring, compassionate, and concerned about a lot of things in the world.