A Fraud

I don’t actually know what I’m doing.

Not in mothering.  Not in marriage.  Not in relationships, in general.

Not in educating.  Not in domestic responsibilities.  Not in business.

Certainly not in humaning.

I am not an expert.  In anything.  I hold multiple degrees.  I am well trained in various areas from accounting to herbalism.  I have taught myself how to cook and clean and do laundry.  I have learned to make medicines and file taxes and follow an educational philosophy that respects children as born persons.  I have studied and read and learned.  I have traveled and I have loved and I have birthed babies.  Yet I am not an expert at anything.

Sometimes I feel inadequate.  Like I’m a perpetual student over here, never quite achieving competency.  Other times, I’m just resigned to the idea that I am not an expert.  I think of myself more as a jack-of-all trades.

Other days I try to convince myself that surely I must be an expert at something.  I know so much about herbs and healing and alternative health care.  Until I am humbly reminded that for all I know, there’s still so much I don’t know.  I tell myself I’m an expert at educating my children.  Until I see a hole in their learning or hear a criticism that makes me rethink our methods.

Most days I go to bed reminded that I’m really not an expert at anything.

Except being broken.

I’m good at that.  Really good.  Expert level good.

Being broken doesn’t require a degree.  Or years of study.  It doesn’t require a paycheck or a certain household income.  It doesn’t matter my skin color or my weight or my religion.  All it requires is a quick look in the mirror and the humility to admit that I’m a mess.

And I promise.  I’m a mess.

with-every-intention

Being an expert at being broken might not be a bad thing.  It certainly makes me more compassionate.  Because I know how you’re feeling.  My road might look different than yours, but it’s all still a rubbled mess.  And I get how that mess distracts us and deters us and sometimes defines us.

Being broken leaves lots of room for growth and fixing.  And that might just be the point of this long journey we call life…a chance to change and be the better person, the kinder person, the person I’d want in my life.

The best thing about being broken might just be that it keeps me humble.  It helps me journey alongside those in my life (even my kids…no, especially, my kids).  ‘Cause I don’t really know what I’m doing either.  And sometimes having somebody that’s there in the trenches with you is way better than having someone preach from outside the arena.

So there it is.  I’m a fraud at most everything I do.  Except being broken.  And I’m okay with that.