Flaws

Everyone has them.  That’s what helps us look forward to the resurrection.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my flaws lately.  Specifically because I lasted for 43 years without recognizing one.  Then all of a sudden, several months ago I finally saw it and named it.  I had been vaguely aware of it, but it just didn’t bother me.  Then it just so happened that a few different people all made reference to this flaw (not even necessarily MY flaw) within the same week and a bunch of stuff suddenly made sense and I realized that I had that flaw.

Of course now I see it all the time and wonder how I was not aware of it.  I mean, honestly I’m glad I wasn’t burdened with knowing this about myself in my teen years.  But I don’t know that it’s any easier to deal with it now.  I really dislike it about myself.  To be sure, it’s not my only flaw.  But at least I’m used to the flaws I’ve known about all my life.  And it also has nothing to do with age either.  At least I know that everyone ages and I can be somewhat prepared for those changes, though they are still surprises.  But this has just always been there, but I was blessedly ignorant for my whole life.  I wish I didn’t know now.

But knowing, I can’t not see it.

It’s also hereditary apparently.  So my recognition of my own flaw has coincided with recognizing that same flaw in some of my children.  Some of them recognize this flaw in themselves.  And at least one of them realizes it comes from me.  Others are still blissfully unaware that they are “flawed”.

And this is the crux of it.

I find myself constantly pondering about the little imperfections my kids have.  I may be aware of them as imperfections, but they don’t bother me.  Some of them, I love. (Of course I love the kids, I also love some of their flaws.)  Maybe those flaws don’t actually seem so problematic on them.  Other times maybe the flaws do bother me, but it doesn’t diminish my love for the child or make me think that they are anything less than absolutely wonderful.

And yet, I still hate those very flaws in myself.  And feel unlovable and grotesque.  Embarrassed to be in my own skin.  Isn’t that interesting?  And I wonder what comes out subconsciously to my kids.  Do they know that I hate certain things about myself?  How do they feel about MY flaws?  What about the ones we share in common?

(This is another post I started weeks or months ago and didn’t finish or publish.  I lost my train of thought since I first wrote it, but tagged on a quick ending and I’m throwing it out there anyway.)