My daughter brought me a song. My Kk handed me a song called “Flaws.” I use it to crack myself open. I listen to the acoustic version and I cry. I cry to touch that place in me that I don’t have access to because it’s deep and scared, scared that someone will see my flaws and run.

Because you know what: not everyone is capable of holding our flaws.

Our flaws.

All of our flaws.

I so want to look up the song lyrics and let them tell this story.

This story of the human journey. How I am close enough to my family to see all of their flaws. To not want to love them. To read the words taped on to my desktop: “The best chance to be whole is to love whatever gets in the way, until it ceases to be an obstacle.” Mark Nepo tells me to love my family’s flaws, to love my own flaws.

Let’s finish what we’ve started.

I wade back to my wedding when my uncle the priest said my husband and I would be mirrors for each other.

Lately everyone in my family seems to be a mirror for me and this mirror is saying: look at my flaws. Love my flaws. Or at least have space enough in your heart to hold my flaws with a bit of grace.

I’ve witnessed my daughter’s anger at getting braces years after her friends had braces. I’ve seen her anger and it looks familiar: it looks like my anger. Oh, anger, hello. Oh, anger, how uncomfortable you make me feel. Like the world can’t love me in my anger. But I can love my daughter and make space for what I’d rather not make space for. All of her flaws, all of my flaws, we wear them. We pick ourselves undone, just like the song says. We open ourselves wide and say: am I still Ok?

I listen to Bastille’s “Flaws,” the acoustic version and I cry. All of my flaws, and all of your flaws, let’s pick ourselves undone. Let’s love each other through the rough patches. And set it to music. I’ll dance although my moves are awkward. I’ll sing even though I can’t match the tune. I’ll come to the dance if you’ll come to the dance. Let’s finish what we’ve started.

*Italicized words are from Bastille’s “Flaws” song.