Perfectly Imperfect

Written by: Naomi Lockhart 
Email: [email protected]

Growing up I always tried my best to do good, be good, and make others happy. My happiness? Meh. Not as important. Validation was all I needed… or so I subconsciously thought. I wasn’t always this aware of it but it was something I sought after in everything I did, every person I interacted with. It’s still the case, but to a much lesser degree, and thank goodness for that. Perfectionism and people-pleasing are quite literally a deadly combination. The odds were stacked against me from the start. I wasn’t born to come into my own, I was born to conform and bend to the will of others. I wasn’t born to find enjoyment in life and thrive, I was born to serve and survive. Born to be a “proper” subhuman who never complains about anything or anyone and always forces a smile. Everyone else's comfort is first above my well-being. Nothing made this clearer to me than being told by an old man at church to smile. Little did he know I was suicidal. Maybe if he knew, he wouldn’t have said that. But I doubt that one word from him was all that well-intentioned. It’s not like I was having my picture taken, I was just simply walking past him with a facial expression that reflected the day I was having.

There was always someone who had a problem with me. I was either not enough or I was too much. I wasn’t allowed to just exist. I couldn’t just be. I couldn’t just be a kid too, the only option I was given was to grow up fast. Being told how mature I was for my age isn’t the compliment I once thought it was.
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I always had to be doing things for others. Doing something solely for myself and my own pleasure was considered a waste of time. I am a woman, a lesbian, half-not-white, neurodivergent, with invisible physical disabilities. I was born lower-class and was once a child who had little sense of autonomy. I’m not meant to have a voice. I’m not meant to be heard. I’m not meant to be believed. I’m not meant to be taken seriously. No one in my personal life said these words explicitly, but they didn’t need to. I still got the message loud and clear. In the eyes of a Western patriarchal capitalistic society, I'm no better than dead if I can’t meet certain expectations and uphold the status quo. I’m disposable so long as I keep calling attention to my rights. My existence challenges the very systems, harmful systems, that some people work too damn hard to keep in place. What did I ever do to deserve such vitriol? I do wonder. 

When I finally started to stand up for myself and set much-needed boundaries, that’s when all hell broke loose. Unfortunately, things got so much worse before they got better. The arguments were amplified. They became more frequent. Civility was nowhere to be found. Screaming, yelling, pleading, crying. Why was everyone and everything so loud? How come when they raised their voices at me and while triggered I raised my voice back, their voices turned down and I was now an unruly maniac? Implode. Implode. Implode. Explode! Repeat. I think imploding is such a common thing girls/women do. Suffer in silence until you just can’t take it anymore and unleash the beast inside you- the beast that has been begging to be freed from the trap it found itself in. How could anyone blame the beast for roaring and groaning as it bleeds away in pain? As if it were asking to be prey?… It feels far from good but the anger has to come out somehow. It’s so easy for people to dismiss our anger, however. Once it’s expressed profoundly, we are deemed hysterical and once hysterical always hysterical it seems. The ancient Greek word for uterus is Hystera - many men think that only women can be hysterical but if anything it’s the opposite. 

I was often told how selfish I was, that I only cared for myself. This was among the things I feared most and thus one of the last things I wanted to hear. But I wholeheartedly believed in these words, their gut-wrenching words for a while. And hated myself with a passion because of it. I was at my lowest of lows and being told by the people I cared about most of how much of a disappointment I was. Little or big comments they made were like micro or macro stabs to the heart. All I wanted was their love but in turn, they made me believe I was the scum of the earth- because I dare ask for more. How dare I have needs beyond what’s legally required of them to provide. But no, I was supposed to kiss their feet for not letting me die in the streets. Curse me for putting myself first for once in my life. Tragic. But in truth, they were just disappointed they didn’t have constant easy access to me anymore as they’ve only ever appreciated what they could get out of me. I’d go back and forth between giving in and standing my ground even when it hurt. I didn’t have the term for it at the time but reactive abuse I believe is what it’s called. They were good at making me feel like a savage. How could I have turned out like this when, in my earlier years, I was so calm and collected? Sometimes the price you pay for fighting for the right thing is losing your sanity, and your grip on reality until a miracle opportunity comes your way, you set aside your pride and finally rely on someone else for help. That is if such a miracle comes your way. Too many don’t make it to the other side. That hurts to know.

I was no longer the prim, proper, and polished person I thought myself to be. Though I’ve never thought I was perfect, I so seriously thought it was something I could achieve. I thought that once I had achieved perfection then they’d finally love me, of course they would, right? Right? People have achieved the impossible before but this? Now this was truly impossible. Even if I hypothetically were perfect, being loved was never a guarantee. Okay so, perfect was completely out of the question but I still wanted to please. I was now rough around the edges and everyone could see it. How I’m not as docile and sweet. How I’m lagging behind others my age. I tried so hard to hide all my flaws and vulnerabilities and now they were front and center. I felt naked, exposed, and ashamed. I couldn't control what they thought of me anymore- not that I ever really could. My reputation had been permanently tainted. How does one go from a high-achieving student to a dropout? Well, certainly not willingly in my case. I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter and yet I was ridiculed for it. I tried my best but I guess it just wasn’t enough. My efforts didn’t matter as I wasn’t pulling in the ideal results. Something must seriously be wrong with me… that or maybe I was never meant to follow a traditional life path. If I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t I might as well do things that genuinely spark joy in me. Otherwise, what’s the point of living my life if I can’t live it for myself? Even just a little bit.

I am not fond of most of my memories. There’s something about standing up for yourself and fighting for your right to be recognized as a full-fledged human being that can be so humiliating. But I am proud that I fought for my personhood in the end. That I stood up for myself when no one else did. I am not without scars but at least I’m still around and have finally gotten a taste of happiness. Not superficial joviality but authentic happiness from slowing down and taking in the small beautiful things that are often taken for granted. Happiness that isn’t as fleeting as it once was. Happiness where I just can’t seem to stop smiling and my face hurts and I’m unashamedly laughing to the point where I start having coughing fits and my chest hurts and even that’s funny! A little concerning yes, but funny! I’m humming all the time too. I don’t have to be so quiet anymore. I didn’t think I’d get this far. I live at my own pace and pursue my passions. I am my own boss now. And how lucky I am for that.

I still struggle with many things but I can better handle what life throws at me. There are people out there who believe I’m less than human or would treat me as such but the good thing is, I don’t have to spend the rest of my life believing it too. For me, it’s easier to be nice to others than to be nice to myself but I see just how important self-love and respect is. When I’m around others and I start to feel inferior, I’m able to notice it sooner and I try to be more gentle with myself. I owe that to myself. And I am not above or below anyone. Some of the "flaws" that certain people think are okay to degrade me over are not even flaws to begin with. I refuse to believe they are. Like my lesbianism. In contemporary Filipino culture, it’s as if you can make up for your homosexuality by becoming rich enough and/or famous and not bringing attention to your sexuality too much. I am not rich or famous but my sexuality? It is a beautiful thing! Love is a beautiful thing in all its forms and I will continue to embrace it for as long as I live for happy is only the soul that loves. As for my real flaws, I am working on them. But I am not a letter, I am not a number, I am not a puppet, I am not a robot, I am not a product. I am not a means, I am an end. I am a person and I don’t need anyone’s permission to be imperfect. 


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© 2025 Naomi Lockhart