“My heart is an unmade bed – it might look messy, but I swear it’s a safe place to rest.”
– Moriah Pearson
I found this quote by Moriah Pearson a few days ago and it struck a chord. I spend too much time wishing I was “perfect” – whatever that means. I’ve been through a few things and I’m a little messy. The difference is that I don’t pretend to be all neat and tidy, without creases and perfect hospital corners. I honestly prefer an unmade bed. If the covers are tucked in I immediately kick them loose so I can cocoon in the layers. I think I’d rather come across as comfortable and approachable, rather than perfect and fragile. Someone to be wrapped up with, with a couple of creases, a lived-in life…
The real beauty of experience is how we can share our journey with those who are on a similar or entirely different journey. We really dwell on the negative experiences, but our good experiences can also inspire and teach. Quite frankly most of my negative experiences have ended in personal growth and sometimes a miracle. I do believe that we are never given anything that we can’t handle, no matter how impossible it seems at the time.
My unmade bed
When I was six years old, I didn’t dream of being a heart patient, a recovering alcoholic, a step-mother, medicated for a mood disorder, and only getting married and pregnant in my late thirties. My mother is none of these things. I thought I’d be like my mom. Most women probably don’t hope to grow up to be like their mothers, but I did. I still admire her so much.
When I was thirty I didn’t dream that six years later I’d be living in my own beautiful house, with two dogs, a cat and a 10 year old boy. I think I’d resigned my little hopeless romantic heart to a life of celibacy and wine. But here I am, engaged and planning a baby with the most wonderful, understanding man. I have a community of women around me who have similar experiences to me. We love, we share, and are messy together.
Photo credit: Sydney Sims via Unsplash