F is for F***ing Forgiveness

Today, I forgive myself for trying too hard and for not trying. For crying incessantly. For eating chips just because I wanted the salsa. For not eating ice cream when I wanted it and for gaining weight anyway. For not being where/who I thought I would be at 40. For making decisions that don't reflect who I am. For recording Vanderpump Rules and for not watching the news. For running slow or, God forbid, walking. For not playing softball in college or having a college fund set aside for my children. For not finishing what I start and not starting what I want to finish. For needing somebody else to validate me. For giving people the wrong impression and then obsessing over making sure they know it's wrong. For being weak or needing help or having a bad day. For not ironing on Sunday or putting away my clothes - ever. For wishing I didn't have my cat. For overcompensating and looking ridiculous. For not teaching or writing or painting or running or knitting or reading or doing sit-ups. For failing at marriage. Twice. For not nurturing my friendships or my relationships with my sisters and brother. For being selfish and self-righteous. For saying I'm grateful but not acting like I am. For knowing nothing about politics and everything about pop culture. For drunk texting to sober people. For playing the martyr or being the victim. For not walking away before I've made a fool of myself. For not forgiving my father sooner or answering more of my mother's texts. For wanting a boob job and a tummy tuck and for being flawed. For not having written a book yet. For settling. For not remembering when my brats got their first tooth or giving them enough attention. For not wearing sunscreen and having wrinkles. For not saving all of my concert tickets. For being really bad at picking guys. For not brushing my teeth before bed or flossing - ever. For latching on to things/people that are bad for me and distancing myself from the things/people that aren't. For hitting send before I spell check. For being lazy and jealous and angry and human. For still having my dead Christmas tree in the backyard. For spending money I don't have on things I don't need. For beating myself up. For taking three years to start writing again. And for knowing that for every one thing I wrote here, there were still ten that I didn't.

Today, I fucking forgive myself…..for all of it. And moving forward, I'll probably just start being perfect and awesome and stuff.