I am not perfect. We all know that. It has been a constant lesson throughout our lives: “Nobody’s perfect.” But still, growing up, I tried to be. Everyday started with perfectly straightened hair, perfectly picked outfits, and perfectly applied makeup--or as perfect as a middle schooler/early high schooler could do. Obsessed with not only looking, but also acting perfect, I never was able to see the beauty in imperfections. 

Now, as I show my true self without hiding behind a mask of perfection, I am able to see what kind of person I am. What kind of person I am not. I am not perfect, and I am okay with that. I am not the negative thoughts that dance around my head at times. Telling me that I’m not good enough at anything. That I’m not worthy of love. Always using “I’m not” as a way to bring out the worst in me. Now, I use “I’m not” to tear down those terrible false thoughts. I am not a bad student because of one bad grade I got on a test. I am not a bad dancer because of my mind’s constant comparison to the other girls. Reminding me of the negative thoughts each time I glance in the mirror. I am not unwanted because of the friends who dropped me once we got to high school. 

I am filled with joy and love for my life. I am a great student that will likely get into the colleges that I want to because of the effort put into my grades. I am an excellent dancer because I keep pushing myself to be better. Always pulling up through my center, stretching through my extensions, and making energy flow through my arms. I am loved and I am surrounded by amazing people that would give the world to me.

I am a better person than I used to be because I can now see all of this in a positive way. My hair is not naturally straight, but it is unique. The sun shines off of it, turning it a fiery orange color. Some days it will be sleek and smooth, and other days it will curl up, giving it a new style each time. My outfits aren’t planned out days in advance, but it makes it exciting and is able to fit whatever mood I’m feeling when I wake up. My makeup isn’t perfect. In fact, I now only wear mascara, but that showcases my natural beauty. Instead of caking on concealers and foundation onto my face to cover up every little bump, red spot, or freckle, I now embrace it, knowing that each freckle on my face makes me… me.

You see, you have to allow yourself to live a little. Once I stopped trying to be the “perfect person,” I found myself happier. You have to think of what being perfect means to you. I’m not talking about the dictionary definition: “having all the required or desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics; as good as it is possible to be.” That is what my younger self thought it was. Now, I see it as a measure of happiness. Ever since I’ve stopped focusing on being so perfect, I’m happier than I ever have been; and that seems pretty perfect to me.