The Celebration of Me

At first contemplation, the only times I've been celebrated have been on my last few birthdays where I've invited my friends to congregate around me and share the most precious of things with me ... time. Their time.

But that is not true ... for I am celebrated every day. Every day my son hugs me, every day my husband touches his skin to mine and every day my daughter smiles at me.

I am celebrated because they love me and choose to share that with me.

Whenever I receive an email from Jesse he signs it *Big Jesse Hug* and when I see my friends, their faces light up like they are so happy to see me. And they are. And that is how I am celebrated.

When I read something at a No Shame performance, I receive applause, and (though all do) I see this as a celebration of me. Of what I've shared -- that piece of me.

When I share my writing excerpts to Paul, or my critique group, I receive honest feedback and constructive critique -- and I feel celebrated then, too. Celebrated for my words and honored that I am spoken truth to. That I am worthy of being told the truth.

And so, I celebrate me for being me. Because I am a good person. Worthy of love and compassion and friendship and truth and authentic relationships.

And I celebrate me because I like who I am.

I'm me.