I have big, lofty dreams of whom I believe I can be.
I constantly envision myself as a bright, confident, perfectly-coiffed woman in imaginary high heels (I’m only 5’2) who walks with intention and speaks with humility, who has no flaws and no insecurities, and is loved by everyone.
In my head, I am the ideal career woman who works her behind off, who aces every project, who never runs out of steam. In my head, I will be a boss lady like my mother, make witty jokes like my brother, get stuff done at the same pace my dad does. In my head, I am the perfect wife my husband will never regret choosing, the one who is always balanced and never stressed, the one who makes him laugh and makes all of his hard moments easy. The one who does everything so perfectly that he can’t help but brag as I sit on the pedestal we built together.
In my head, I am the best, best friend; the one who always says the right thing, sends the right gifts, makes everyone feel the most seen, valued, and appreciated. I imagine myself as the light everyone gravitates to, the one who can be everyone’s everything, the one who never makes a single mistake, the one who can do no wrong.
But that bubble of a fantasy easily bursts when I see the dozens of unread emails with unmet deadlines sitting in my inbox, the blue notifications of text messages I have yet to respond to from friends, who are probably wondering if they did something to make me mad (you didn’t).
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