The real me, is an artist. I am overwhelmed and inspired by the beauty I experience every day. To me, every detail is beautiful, especially what people typically think are their flaws. It makes me sad when people don’t see the beauty I do. When someone expresses an insecurity, I am moved to hold them and tell them they are beautiful, and their ideas and love matter more to this world than they will ever know.

Meanwhile, the ultimate hypocrisy lives in my subconscious. The story I tell myself, that I needed to push harder, I needed to do better, I need to strive for perfection in order to matter, was killing me. My physical self was deteriorating due to my stress and fear, and every moment I spent worrying about not being good enough, was a moment of this precious life I’ll never get back.

The things I would say; I’m a terrible artist, I’m fat, I’m a weird shape, I’m mannish, I’m slow, I’m stupid, I’m ugly, I’m disgusting. Change the I to you. You’re a terrible artist, you’re fat, you’re disgusting. Would you say those things to at friend? If I heard one of my friends on the other end of those comments there would certainly be hell to pay.

So I’ll put my armor on and stand in front of my emotional and physical self, against that negative voice. That voice is a weapon that raises my adrenaline and cortisol to the point when my adrenal glands, neurotransmitters, digestion and creativity suffer.

I won’t let the negative voice steal my days or harm my body any longer. I have more important things to do with this life, I think, than be perfect.

I am not defined by my looks, or any imaginary marker of success. I don’t need to prove that I matter to anyone.

It is a constant fight, to stay true to oneself. To block out all the influences that make us feel like what we do and what we have are wrong. In a time when the world needs love, we must forgive, and cherish our differences so that we are able to celebrate the differences and beauty of others. Be kind to yourself, because we have work to do.