Dear Insecurity,

You tell me that my worth lies in what I can offer.
In what I complete and accomplish.
That my value lives in the eyes of those who applaud me.
Even more so in the eyes of those who accost me.

You also do your best to keep me obsessed with
Playing nice so everyone likes me.
Shrinking my voice to avoid causing discomfort.
Replaying clips of inadequacy in the movie theater of my mind.

And most of all, you whisper the ultimate lie
In voices sometimes subtle, sometimes sharp
You insist
That I am not enough.

And you know what? You’re right.
I will never measure up to perfection.
I will never do it all.
I will never please all the people.
I will never have it all figured out.

You built your arguments from truths that are undeniable, and perhaps that’s why I’ve so often listened to you.

But you are wrong to make me fear my incompletion.
You are out of order asking me to worry
and fret
and fill my every inadequacy
With the pretend plaster of perfectionism
Or with masks forged from fear.

And I refuse your offer, even though your points are valid.

On paper, I am not enough.
In terms of success, there could always be more.
In terms of mistakes, I will never avoid them.
In terms of living the life of my dreams,
It will always fall short of a perfect glory.

And yet, in knowing and honoring that truth through my acceptance, I am free.

Because guess what? I don’t measure my life with your ruler.

I don’t anchor my security in the ways of the world.

I choose artistry over accolades.
Care over certifications.
Compassion over career.
Love over longevity.
Quality over quantity.
Charity over consumption.
Giving over gathering.

I could list for days my friend.
Because in truth, insecurity, you are my friend.

You want to keep me safe, and I honestly do believe you want what you think is best for me.

But you don’t have the whole story. None of us do.

So, I trust in the story that’s been written that’s being written and that will always be.

We are not written as infinite. We are not written as infallible. We are written one day, one choice at a time.

And I choose to rest inside the love that does not keep score. That does not grade its servants. That breathes a daily reminder that my worth lays beyond anything I or anyone else can do to mar or magnify it.

None of us earns the air in our lungs.

We receive, we believe, and we breathe it back out into this world.