Being Okay with Who I Am

Imagine the perfect coffee mug. Something smooth, slick and stylish. It’s the perfect size, perfect grip, perfect shape. It’s lightweight enough to be easily portable but sturdy enough to last a long time. Chances are it’s got a nice, bright color, or maybe an inspirational picture or quote on it. Or perhaps, it has a funny picture, or an “I Hate Mondays” slogan. But whatever it is you imagine, it is perfect in every way. It’s the kind of mug you give to your mother-in-law, or your kid’s teacher at the end of the year. It is perfect.

Now take that image and flip it. Imagine the imperfect mug. It’s dented, malformed in some way. The handle isn’t quite big enough, or maybe it’s slightly too big. That smooth polish is interrupted by rough spots that feel more like sandpaper than a proper mug. It’s not neatly colored, perhaps the color doesn’t even fit. It still serves its purpose as a mug, mind you: it holds liquid and it’s easy enough to drink out of. But this isn’t the mug you think of lining the shelves of stores or the cabinets of kitchens. It’s not perfect.

But the truth is, there are no perfect mugs.

An Uncomfortable Truth

This is the message I heard several months ago from a speaker at church, and it’s stuck with me for a long time since. The moral of the story— that there are no perfect mugs— is a simple one. We are shaped uniquely and beautifully by our Creator, and though we may not be seen as perfect by the world, we are seen perfect by him. All of our dents, all of our rough edges, all of our faults— despite all of that, we are made perfect.

Now normally one doesn’t start a story with the moral in mind at the beginning, but it’s important that I do so here. Because while the moral is obvious from a distance, looking at it firsthand, it’s not easy always so easy to remember. When you hold the mug in your hands, you feel its bumps on your fingers and its scratches on your palm. You see those stripes that don’t fit and those dents that don’t make sense. There’s one very smooth side, but you turn it, and the other side is rough as sandpaper. Your mug isn’t perfect. You know that. But when everyone else holds their mug, they connect with it. They accept the dents and deformities and rough spots. But you don’t know how.

Maybe it’s the after-effects from a solid two or three years of being exclusively on survival mode. Maybe it’s a major change in life I haven’t truly prepared for. Maybe it’s old issues and trauma resurfacing when I thought I had dealt with them. Or maybe it’s just me being a little more insecure. But whatever the reason, the problem is when I look at my mug, I don’t know how to connect with it. I see a lot of parts I don’t like. I see things I want to work on, things I want to be. I see a guy still trying to figure out what he wants in life and not knowing. I see a kid pretending to be an adult. I see a person trying his best to make sense of a crazy world, and not knowing where or how he fits in. I see a lot of dents. And I want to smooth them out and pretend they don’t exist but I can’t.

Finding Myself in a New Chapter

Sometimes, the best way to overcome your insecurities is to push them away as you deal with other adventures. And with a new chapter starting with me going to graduate school, there was certainly going to be quite a bit of adventure.

It’s been three years since I’d graduated from New Paltz and started teaching preschool, and over that span of time I’ve gained a lot: everything from skills and experience in teaching to a greater understanding of myself and who I’m meant to be. And while I’ve had the time of my life as a preschool teacher, I knew deep down that there was more for me out there. It was time to commit to taking the next step of whatever journey I’m on. So, of to Saint Rose it was, and aside from getting my car towed the first day (don’t recommend the experience) everything was going smoothly. Classes were exciting and professors engaging. Fellow classmates were kind and helping me along the way, and I started connecting and building friendships with others over the semester. The work was, well, heavy at times— part of why it took me several months longer to write this than I’d planned— but overall I had a good balance going on and was never too overwhelmed. Everything was as it was supposed to be.

But at the same time, all those insecurities I was dealing with earlier— they hadn’t disappeared. I may have committed myself to education and one day being a teacher, but even now I find myself wondering how I’ll do it, why I’m doing it, and whether I’m worthy. I still wasn’t sure of myself and how I came across to others, especially doing online school for the first time in my life. I wasn’t sure how to make friendships in college and keep the friendships I had back at the preschool or my previous college. Grades weren’t an issue— if you put in the work, you’re almost guaranteed an A— but with just about everything else I had my doubts. I doubted whether I was good enough. I doubted my choices about going to school and my capabilities for the future. I doubted my ability to make and keep friends. I doubted me.

Every now and then, I still do.

Being Okay with You

Life is a learning process, whether in or out of school. In a single semester of grad school I’ve learned more about teaching strategies, Piaget, and literacy than I’d thought possible. The problem is not every lesson is important. There’s a lot you learn in life that only comes up here and there, or perhaps once and never again. But then there are those lessons that keep coming back. And these are the important ones. They take time. They take relearning. They come up time and time again. And maybe you already know what the life-lesson is— whether from books or movies or watching other people or even yourself— but you haven’t quite come to accept it.

Right now, my lesson is a relatively simple one: be okay with you. Be okay with your dents and your scratches and your quirks. I’ve been trying to learn how to do that for a long time now, and I think maybe someday I’ll be able to. But I know it’s not easy and I know I’m not alone. But that’s why it bears repeating: learn to be okay with who you are.

"For you created my inmost being... I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made." -Psalm 139:13-14

For one, you are more than whatever you think. You are capable. You are good enough. You are worthy. Be confident and don’t doubt yourself. You can rise to the challenge and you can be successful and happy. You have the skills to be a good teacher, student, friend, and anything and everything else. You have friends that care about you and people that love you. You can face anything; if not alone, with friends, with family, with God at your side. I made the first step to continue my education and do something I’ve held back from out of fear for a long time. I made and kept friendships and continued to be a good friend. I made the balance between work, school, homework, and social life work. I did a damn good job.

For another, it’s okay to not be perfect. You won’t always know if what you’re doing is right. You’ll have doubts and insecurities. You may not always have your act together and may not always feel ready to take on life’s challenges. You’ll encounter rough spots. You’ll have to deal with old traumas (and possibly some new ones). I’m still trying to discover who I want to be. I’m still dealing with issues coming from losing my mother. I still often feel like a child pretending to be an adult. I’m not perfect. And that’s okay. There are certainly still things I want to work on and ways to improve, and that’s all well and good, but I don’t have to be perfect. There are no perfect mugs. But that doesn’t make you any less important to the one who created you and the ones who admire you.

It’s okay to accept your faults and quirks and dents. You’re better because of them. The people who matter most love you in spite of and because of them. Even if you don't look, act, or feel perfect, that's fine. You don't have to be. But you are absolutely good enough. I promise.