[For the sake of full disclosure, this post was handwritten on a night when I lacked access to cell or internet service. I am transcribing it exactly as it was originally written. Somewhat painfully, I did no editing.]
I am so much more than I think I am in any given moment. I am rarely aware of how perfectly complete I am, and yet I am always perfectly complete. Head laid back, feet up on a wall, passing gas, laughing and heart full, I got to touch into this tonight with one of my dearest friends who said to me at one point that I am really good at being. It moved me to tears. That he said it, that he sees it, and that I am.
I have wanted and wished for so long to be okay just being me. Now I am recognizably good at it. On the tail end of his words I saw all the many ways in which they are true, and it filled me with warmth. I fell a little more in love with myself in that moment, as I saw myself more clearly.
I feel sweet, tender, and full. I am aware of how much I have to offer, with all the different parts of me, of how much and how differently I can give. It fills my heart with joy. To see me. To love me. To share me.