Are we our labels? And I don’t mean designer ones, honey….

I’m a wife, a mother, a worker, a daughter, an aunt, a blonde ditz, and super funny. But I’m so much more than that. I’m a middle aged woman, but I act like a 12 year old boy. I’m a flirt but I’m so insecure with how people look at me. I’m happy, elated, smiley, but ultimately sad, wounded, and frightened. I seem confident, but it’s for show. I’m really insecure and in search of approval. I’ve always needed it. I’m drifting but I’m anchored. I’m resourceful, but get so overwhelmed that I can’t finish one damn thing. I’m a hot mess, but I’m in control. I say I don’t need help, but I really do. I can’t slow down, but I want to….

I love but not well enough. I love but not smartly. I love but I’m selfish. I forgive others but never myself. I pretend I don’t feel shame but I do, everyday. I’m funny, but I’m not. I’m no angel and would never claim to be. Don’t want to be. Just want to be. Me. I am simple in my complexity, and I only let you see what I want you to see…..

We women, we’re complex creatures. But we ultimately just want love. To feel it and to give it.