I am not really interested in your Nice Self.
Your clean, tidy, happy, respectable, best-table-manners Self. Everyone gets to see that.
I long to see the rest of you. The bits that are wounded, quivering, dirty, terrified, ecstatic, and inappropriate. I want to adore those hidden parts of you.
I give you permission to show me.
But it’s not my permission you really need.
It’s your own.