i myself am made of flaws

 one of the things my art journal has allowed me to do is reflect on myself in a different way.  in a regular journal, of which i have stacks and stacks of, i mostly write about what i did, where i went, and how i feel about it.  or i write pages and pages about how depressed i am.  in my art journal, it's a different story--it's a story of me.  i'm sure someone who read my journals would know a part of me, someone who looked at my art journal would probably understand me better.

and i've begun to understand myself better, too.

in high school i did a lot of self-portraits.  mostly reflections on the inner turmoil i was dealing with--undiagnosed bipolar disorder, depression, PTSD, self-loathing and normal teenage angst, all wrapped up into one enormous dysfunctional 17-year-old.  now that i am an adult, on appropriate medication, have moved on from the abuse and generally less dysfunctional, it is interesting to me to see the different way i am portraying myself.  there are a lot more words, and a lot more colors involved.

so who am i, really?  a wife, a mother, a woman, an artist.  these are all labels, all things i do--important things.  but what's underneath that?

i'm a person, i struggle with self-esteem.  i don't really like the way i look.  i think i'm witty sometimes, and i can be funny.  i'm smart.  i have artistic talent, which i am trying to hone.  i am a creative person, and i'm outgoing.  i love people.  i'm generally an optimist, when i'm not struggling with mental illness.

so the thing is....i'm made up of a lot of things.  genetics.  experiences.  what i've seen, heard, and felt.  what i believe.  my convictions, ethics, and values.  i change, i adapt, i learn, i grow.  i'm not perfect, but i want to be better than i was, and better than i am.  tomorrow, next week, next month, next year...i will be different--but deep down, still the same person.

i, myself, am made of flaws.  stitched together with good intentions.