After writing about disillusionment and energy, this one feels like a natural place to land… because the truth is, we’ve always been aware of our flaws. From a young age, most of us can list them quite easily. The things we don’t like about ourselves, the parts we wish were different, the little (or not so little) insecurities we carry around.
But when we’re younger, those flaws tend to feel like problems. Things to fix, hide, or feel quietly uncomfortable about. They can feel like the worst parts of us, the bits we hope no one notices too closely.
I know that was definitely true for me. I hated my feet for years. I’ve had bunions for as long as I can remember, and I was so self-conscious about how my toes looked. I’d avoid wearing anything that showed them — no flip flops, no sandals if I could help it — always trying to hide them away.
And my teeth… oh my goodness, I hated my teeth when I was younger. I had those slightly “vampire” style ones, and I was so aware of them all the time. I did end up getting them done in my late twenties, early thirties, but for years before that, they felt like this huge, glaring flaw.
My legs were another thing. I’ve never really liked them, and if I’m honest, I still tend to cover them up even now. Some things shift completely, and others… not so much.
And then there are the things that come with age. The grey hairs, the lines on our faces, the sun spots on our hands. I remember when my first grey hairs appeared — I saw them as a flaw straight away. Something to fix. Something to hide. Which, when you think about it, is absolutely ridiculous. They’re proof of living. The same with every line and mark that appears over time.
I stopped dyeing my hair in my mid-thirties, and now I actually love it. The shade is more white than grey, and I’ve completely embraced it. It feels like me. And I wish more people could see these things differently too, because visible signs of ageing aren’t flaws… they’re just part of being alive. I remember when I first decide to stop dyeing it, some of my colleagues were horrified. I mean…really?!
That’s probably one of the things that bothers me most now — the way flaws are still treated like something unacceptable. The airbrushed, photoshopped images we see everywhere, especially in magazines. It’s not just unrealistic, it’s damaging. It sets a standard that doesn’t exist, and never has. And it’s younger generations who end up absorbing that, thinking they’re somehow not good enough as they are.
But the older I get, the more I realise that flaws are often the most interesting, most human, and even the most beautiful parts of us. They’re what make people real. They’re what give depth, character, and a sense that there’s more beneath the surface.
Because perfection, if we’re honest, is a bit… boring. It’s polished, yes. But it’s also flat. Predictable. Safe. And not particularly memorable. It’s the quirks, the contradictions, the slightly messy edges that stay with us.
That doesn’t mean everything is acceptable, of course. There’s a difference between flaws and behaviour that hurts others. But the quieter, more human imperfections? The things that make us a bit awkward, a bit sensitive, a bit different… those are the things that make us who we are.
And I think the same applies to life itself. Not everything is going to be smooth, easy, or perfectly timed. There will be cracks, mistakes, detours, and moments that don’t quite go to plan. But often, those are the moments that shape us the most. They’re where we learn. Where we grow. Where we soften a little.
So instead of trying to fix every flaw or pretend they don’t exist, I’ve found myself becoming more accepting of them. In myself, and in others. Not celebrating everything blindly, but recognising that imperfection isn’t something to be ashamed of. It’s part of being human. And maybe that’s where a different kind of beauty lives. Not in being flawless… but in being real.
This is something I touch on in my book too — that idea of letting go of who we think we should be and coming back to who we actually are, imperfections and all. If that resonates, you can find it on Amazon but if you google The Enchanted Midlife by Suzy Turner, you will also find it on numerous other online bookstores.
