My Mistake, and I'm Sorry

I flooded our laundry room and the room in the basement below. No one does such a thing on purpose, yet I did do it. It was discovered when my spouse who was working on a hobby in the basement heard the sounds of water dripping. Upon investigation, he found water seeping from under the wall's floor trim and dripping from the ceiling fixtures. What a mess!

I could get all descriptive of the mess I had made and the job of cleaning it up, but this is not my focus now. My focus is on how truly hard it can be to own one's faults. As I think about my own faults, I know for certain I don't want them painted on a wall outside a busy shopping center or blasted across social media.

But why not? Seriously? Why would it matter one bit. Anyone who gets to know me at all knows most of my faults. It's not like I don't actually have them! I'm horrible at keeping in touch. I dislike the phone, I rarely send a card, and my emails can be so business-like that the love I feel for my people far away doesn't come through. I run my people ragged. I like to be active, busy, and productive. I'm not a relaxed person even on vacation. I stress about cleanliness yet I don't keep up on my house half the time. I have horrible patience for lack of honesty. I will wiggle my tongue around any food stuck in my teeth until I get it removed. And I never rid my tummy of the baby roll post my last daughter's birth--she's 17--and menopause made it worse. I fight out loud with my husband. I sometimes leave the stove top or oven on long after I'm one using them. My chicken coop gets cared for about half the time it should. What is worse? I don't care much for chocolate or ice cream! I have 10 sets of unopened sheets for my bed because I forgot that I had already gotten some and bought more when I found them in the right color and on sale. Ten extra sets!!! I really enjoy the feeling of sun on my skin and so never wear sunscreen. Ever. Half of my stomach is covered in a birthmark that turns much darker when I am upset (not really a fault, but still something I'm inclined to hide). And, I flooded my laundry room and basement.

There, that's all out there. And I am no shorter or taller or smarter or less so. I'm not crushed that the world knows my faults. They haven't gone away just because I am known for them, and they have gotten no worse. And now it doesn't matter who discovers any of my faults. I wonder what would happen if we just lived as we are without hiding. Don't you?