We are all hard in some ways.
To expect smooth edges only is unrealistic.
It’s often not the expectations of others that we fail to live up to but our own. Which is why it’s so hard to be kind to ourselves. And even more important why we should.
For every wrong I also do right. For every time I yell I am also gentle and kind. For all my glaring imperfect moments I am also human. I was not made to be perfect but my heart is loving. I have more love in me than all the bad I’ve done combined. And it is ever replenishing. And because of that I carry on.
