When I was a little girl, I liked to tidy my room (weird, I know), and when I was finished, I’d run to wherever my dad was and yank his arm, “Daddy, come see my room! Come see how nice it looks!” And he would say, “Okay, sweetie, I will in a minute.” And I would say with impatience, “But I really really really want you to see it!!!” And my stubbornness would usually win the day, and he’d get out of his chair and come see what I did, while I showed him the ins and outs of my cleaning job—each drawer sorted, each dresser top organized.
My poor dad. Lol.
Thing is, I think all of us, even as adults, long for someone to take stock of our progress sometimes, to see how much we’ve done, how far we’ve come.
For someone to say, “I am proud of you.”
Every few months, my inner petulant little girl comes out, and I crave for someone to say those five words: “I am proud of you.” I long to show someone what I’ve accomplished, to get validation that yes, you are making progress; yes, you are doing great things because, honestly, as an entrepreneur, sometimes you feel like a lone duck without in-person coworkers to bounce ideas off of, to vent with after a stressful moment, to simply know what you’re doing day in and day out. And as an entrepreneur, too, there are simply too many things to master all at once. For a perfectionist, realizing you can’t do it all in one day is a lesson that can take a good while to master!
A few months ago, I called my friend Audria. It took me ten minutes to find the courage to call her because I didn’t want to unload, but once I did, she insisted on coming over. I didn’t want her to because I was feeling imperfect; my apartment was a mess; deadlines loomed. But as soon as Audria walked in the door, she wrapped me in a big hug and said, “I am so proud of you. And I know God is too.” And I kinda lost it. I didn’t realize how much I was longing to hear these words. Here we were, standing in the middle of my mess—me sobbing snotty tears onto my poor friend’s shoulder—and yet, she was proud of me.
It seems every few months my tank gets low, and I long to hear these words, for someone to see my progress, for someone to validate all that I’ve done. But, really, I guess I need to learn that I am loved all the time, that God loves me all the time, imperfect or not, clean room or not, whether I’m making six figures or six dollars. He sees my progress. He sees my hard work. He sees the growth that others may not see. He is my daddy, always present, who always sees.
Yet I do think we need to tell those we love “I am proud of you” just a little more often.