I love how you feel fear and doubt and uncertainty, yet you forge ahead anyway.

I love how you’ve gone hours before realizing you have something green and leafy wedged in-between your two front teeth.

I love when you realize that “should” and “supposed to” aren’t in charge of your life. At least not anymore.

I love how you hit the snooze button over and over again, finally waking up nearly an hour after your alarm went off.

I love how you don’t always pretend that things are perfect. That you aren’t afraid to admit when work sucks or your kids are annoying you.

I love how you dream about weird stuff that you can never remember when you do wake up.

I love how your laugh lines show when you smile.

I love that look in your eyes, I can’t tell if it is mischief or wistfulness. Or something else.

I love how you love to be alone. I love how you get off on being the center of attention.

I love all of your little quirks and habits, even the weird ones. You know which ones I’m talking about.

I love how you read blogs, tweet and hang out on Facebook when you have so many other things you “should” be doing.

I loved the time you did that thing no one thought you’d do. And you did it so awesomely.

I love the way you sometimes wait instead of going for it. That’s ok.

I love how you make mistakes. So many of them.

I love that you had the guts to leave behind what wasn’t working for you, to stand up for yourself, to stop settling. I think you know what I am talking about.

I love how you decided you won’t put up with that crap anymore. And you haven’t.

I love how you think you can control things. It’s cute. Delusional and ineffective, but cute.

I love how your hair looks on bad hair days.

I love how you look when you wear that color.

I love how you finally let that person go in your life. You were right to do that, it wasn’t working.

I love that some days you go without showering. No makeup. No bra. Day-old clothes. The whole nine yards.

I love how badly you messed up that thing that you messed up.

I love how you tell yourself these stories as if they were real. You know, the ones about you not being good enough or doing enough.

I love how messy and imperfect you are. And imbalanced, too.

I love who you are. Including the ugly parts. Especially the ugly parts.

I love that you’re not sure if I am really talking to you in this post. (I am.)

I love what I know you are headed toward.

I love where you’ve been. Even, especially, the sucky parts.

I love that you see yourself in this list. Because I wrote it for you.