I’m Not Perfect, But I Like Me Anyway

Some days, I surprise myself with how well I know myself. Not in the "I know exactly where I left my glasses" kind of way (spoiler: I don't), but in the deeper, quieter ways. The ways that whisper, when nobody's listening, that I'm doing better than I think. And that I shouldn’t put myself down.

If you'd asked me a few years ago what I loved about myself, I'd probably have dodged the question, or changed the subject to something safe, like wallpaper patterns. Loving yourself can feel oddly boastful, like telling people you're the best at baking cakes or always winning at board games (for the record, I am terrible at both). There are just some things, like my husband’s battle with cancer, that make you pause and take stock.

So, here’s a list. Not everything, of course, but enough to make me smile. And feel proud of myself.

I love my imagination. It's stubbornly loyal. It follows me everywhere: while I'm reading, walking, or accidentally buying yet another digital paper pack I don't need. I can dream up a fantasy watercolour dragon one day and a tiny 1:12 scale peony wallpaper the next without blinking. My imagination and I are old friends, and though it sometimes takes me down rabbit holes, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I also love my artistic eye, even when it criticizes itself too harshly. Somehow, I know when a colour is too harsh or when a pattern should be softer. I know what feels right, even if I don't always know why. It's instinctive, and frankly, it's saved me from releasing a lot of terrible designs into the world. Although somebody once said that my artwork looks as though I tripped while carrying a tin of paint…

Patience, that's another quiet strength. When your life is about tiny things (miniatures, seamless patterns, and endless downloads), patience isn't optional. You learn to breathe through printer issues and design tweaks and "why is this not exporting properly" moments. It's the glue that holds creativity together. And when I was a training officer for the government, it allowed people to approach me, knowing they wouldn’t be met with a heavy sigh!

I love my ability to tell stories. Not grand, sweeping epics (though I can do that too), but the kind that cosy up next to you like a cat on a rainy afternoon. Whether it's describing a vintage dollhouse wallpaper or sharing a reflective essay like this one, I like creating words. Although, it has to be said that sometimes my words are too formal, too perfect.

Then there's my curiosity. I can't leave well enough alone, I’m always chasing new ideas. Sometimes that looks like playing with fantasy watercolour styles; other times, it’s researching ancient manuscripts or retro diner ephemera. My curiosity keeps me from getting stuck. It says, "Hey, let’s try that," even when "that" seems slightly ridiculous. But it can get me into trouble too!

Kindness shows up, too, though I don't talk about it much. I think about the people who buy my work or read my posts. I want them to feel something — calm, joy, inspiration. I don't create to impress; I create to connect. And I always have a shoulder to cry on, if somebody wants to talk, I won’t judge them.

I love my independence. Running my little empires — Etsy shops, websites, Facebook groups — feels natural to me. I like steering my own ship, even if I occasionally run it aground and need a glass of wine to recover!

Resilience is one I never used to recognize. But life, as it does, brought challenges that revealed it. Not just through business ups and downs, but through deeper, harder things. My husband's battle with cancer taught me resilience in its rawest form. It's not poetic. It's messy, relentless, and exhausting. But it also taught me I can keep going, even when the hospital visits get me down. Even when fear tries to edge in.

Meaning is one I’m still learning to love about myself. I don’t just make pretty things. I make things with purpose. I care about the feeling they bring, the nostalgia they spark, the comfort they offer. This isn't about trends or algorithms. It's about making something that feels right, even if only to me.

The one last thing that feels embarrassing to brag about is intelligence. I can happily chat about history, politics, music, geography, literature without waffling on aimlessly!

So yes — I know myself a little better these days. And while I may still lose my glasses more than I'd like, I'm learning to see myself more clearly where it really counts.