I know who I pretend to be,
the mask I present to the world.
But it isn’t me.
I know who I want to be.
Half buried dreams
Tantalising reminders of the way it might have been.
But that isn’t me either.
I know who I “should” be.
Perfect wife, perfect mother, perfect friend.
Whipping up a perfect meal whilst simultaneously solving the problems of the world.
But that definitely isn’t me.
I want to change the world, but sometimes changing the sheets is too much effort.
I know the lies that try to tell me who I am.
The whispers in the night that keep me awake.
Hiding under the covers and hoping that there’s still a light.
But I don’t think that’s me either.
So who am I?
I am loved.
With a fierce love.
An outrageous love.
A love that will not, cannot fail.
Not because of who I want to be.
Or who I think I should be.
But because He delights in who I am.
Hating the dark but scared of the light.
His beauty shines in my brokenness.