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I used to be extremely harsh on myself as I stood in the mirror picking apart every flaw and imperfection I could find.

It wasn’t just my looks; it was everything I hated about myself, inside and out.

I even had conversations with myself about it.

“Ew, you’re not even pretty.” “I hate this hair.” “You’re not smart.” “You’re broken.” “You’re damaged.”

I couldn’t even take a compliment. I assumed everyone was just being polite, so I would downplay every nice thing anyone had ever said to me.

It wasn’t until I was out one night with some friends that I realized each one of my flaws and imperfections was actually pretty special. That each person had their own unique look, personality, and past that made them who they are in this world.

I remember standing at the bar, ordering a drink, when a group of guys started talking to me. My friends eventually noticed I was gone for too long and made their way to the bar to meet my new friends.

Out of the group of guys, one stood out among the rest of them. Mr. Gorgeous stood there in the middle as every woman clung to each word from his sweet lips. He was beautiful in every way. Perfect skin. A smile that could knock you on your ass. He was sexy as f*ck. He was ridiculously smart. He was hilariously funny. He was super successful. He had a solid upbringing. He had no drama. He was perfect.

He was the type of guy any woman could fall in love with.

Except me. I couldn’t care less. I didn’t like the obvious, beautiful man whom everyone wanted. The perfect guy.

I fell for his slightly odd-looking and shy sidekick.

I fell in love with that man for every flaw and imperfection about him.

I was instantly attracted to him. He wasn’t gorgeous like his friend, but his odd looks were mysterious and sexy.

He wasn’t easy to talk to. He was extremely quiet and shy. I had to do all the work to get him to open up to me. But once he did, I learned just how sweet he was. His personality wasn’t outgoing and charismatic, but his broad stance was enticing.

He wasn’t the best boyfriend. He screwed up a lot. But not in a lousy way. He just didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do. He wasn’t the best at communicating which caused a lot of fights between us. But I loved him anyway, despite his awful communication skills.

He was terrible at romance. He didn’t do flowers or cards. He didn’t write me love poems. He didn’t leave me sweet notes on the bedroom nightstand when he left in the mornings. He didn’t buy me “just because” presents. Nor did he ever think to pick me up coffee after a long day. But I knew he loved me. He told me every day. He didn’t show it in a romantic gesture; he showed it in other ways when he would kiss me sweetly whenever he saw me. Or when he would hold me tight after making love to me.

He didn’t have the best track record in his past relationships. He kinda sucked at relationships. But so did I, and maybe that was why we found each other.

Loving that man despite his flaws and imperfections opened my eyes to my own fears and worries about what it means to be perfect. Loving him taught me to love everything about myself just as I am. My dull hair. My average looks. My brokenness. My beautiful damaged self.

If the not-so-perfect was a selling point for me, it might be that way for a lot of people, too.

It meant someone would be able to love me for my not-so-perfect self. And he did.

My own flaws and imperfections became beautiful. I wasn’t so worried about them any longer. I actually wore them like badges of honor. I began to highlight them. I accepted them.

His flaws and imperfections were what attracted me to that beautiful man. I would pick him again and again over any “perfect” man out there. Because to me, his flaws and imperfection were perfect.

It was what made him the man I fell in love with. The man who made me see the beauty in myself. The man who opened my eyes to what perfect actually means.

Perfect is every goddamn flaw and imperfection just as it is.

Perfect is each of us just as we are.