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Wednesday, 16 August 2017

Here's To Imperfection

Untitled When I was younger I strove for perfection. In school you're naturally encouraged to be the best, to get full marks on a test or colour perfectly within the lines. You're pushed at every layer of education to improve on your previous. Yet when was the last time someone asked you what you got in your GCSEs?

Visual imperfections are also shunned. From fillers and Facetune apps to make-up that masks who we really are, we throw around the word 'perfect' so often and yet it's a status so soul-draining. The night before my first ever piano exam, I broke my wrist, and my mum is more than sick of this story, mainly because she didn't believe me and thought I was just trying to get out of a few scales and arpeggios. Believe me, perfection seems pretty pathetic when you're asked to perform a D major scale with a dislocated wrist. Safe to say the exam was immediately terminated, I was sent to hospital and despite my lack of performing, my tutor quite possibly took pity on me and awarded me two marks off a distinction.

I broke my wrist rollerblading in one of those indoor arenas, where I was quite obviously anything but perfect. Alongside getting my braces fitted, it's a pain I'll never forget. I'll also never forget the ridiculous amount of time I spent preening myself on the daily, and I'm sure my parents won't forget the sky high water bills either. Or how much I cared about my weight or what other people thought of me.

Sure life isn't like the movies, it's what you make of it. You can dance in the rain but you'll need to dry off afterwards, you can tell someone how you feel but there's a chance it won't be replicated and you can try your best at anything in life and still sometimes fail spectacularly.

One of my friends was made redundant a few years ago and she was too ashamed to tell me. She felt like a failure and that she wasn't good enough - yet she went on to do even greater things and her 'imperfection' only made her a stronger, sassier gal. The me 10 years ago, sure she seemed to have her sh** together but where I'm going with this post is to say that 'hey, I'm ok with my imperfections.'

I'm okay with the fact that I haven't dried my hair in over a year and I rarely pick up an iron. I'm okay that I still have to check with Vicky where an apostrophe goes once a week or when I'm stuck on a quiz question, I can still ask my dad. I'm okay that despite knowing my make-up 'routine' off by heart, I still can't fathom how to use an eyelash curler and I'll never be able to contour. I'm okay that I'll always be a little on the small side and my weight is no longer something I obsess over. I'm okay that my depression from my past has made me more sensitive to my own feelings and to those around me.

I'm okay that I'll never get my nails done, my hair will never sit perfectly, I'll still pronounce things wrong, have awkward moments and make mistakes. I'm okay that in the everyday imperfections, we can laugh at the situations and see each other through every dark day that faces us. I've got bags under my eyes from the late nights making memories and blonde roots from one too many hair dye disasters. I swear more than I should, laugh a little too loud and follow my heart waaaaaaayy too often. But bottom line is, I'm having a bloody ball. Because newsflash: perfection is SO last season.

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