My dad used to call me “Awesome Amy.” I loved it. I truly believed I was awesome at everything I did.

I did gymnastics and played piano and wrote poems and made up dances, and I was awesome at it all.

I vaguely knew that some of my peers did these things too, and some of them were a lot better at it. Truth be told, I was fairly terrible at most of these pursuits.

But I had my dad’s voice in my head telling me, “You are Awesome Amy!”

My wobbly headstands weren’t any less awesome because my neighbor could do a backflip.

—

My 4 year old sat at our table one day, happily drawing a picture. I asked him what he was drawing. He picked it up and studied it for a bit and proclaimed, “I think it kind of looks like a snowman! So I guess I drew a snowman! Isn’t it great?”

When Nate draws, there is no voice in his head saying “That doesn’t look anything like a snowman. That’s terrible. Everyone else can draw better snowmen. This is too hard and you will never draw a good snowman.” He draws for the pure joy of drawing. If it looks like a snowman, awesome. If it looks like a cloud, awesome again!

He is my Nate the Great. And I hope he hears my voice in his head, always, telling him he is great. And may my Max always know he is magnificent.

—

Somewhere along the way, I let a new voice in my head.

Sometimes it whispers; sometimes it yells.

“You are not enough.”

Not pretty enough. Not smart enough. Not funny enough. Not trying enough.

—

Maybe someday Nate will draw another snowman. And maybe someday, someone will say “your snowman stinks.”

And maybe he’ll wonder if they’re right.

And maybe whenever he draws, he’ll hear a voice in his head say “your snowman stinks.”

—

Is that how it starts? Is that how we start listening to the mean voice that sometimes talks to us in our heads?

I loved my butterfly clips. Until someone told me I shouldn’t.

Something, someone, tells us we’re less than, and we believe it.

How did that voice get there? And why do we listen?

And what would happen if I replaced that voice with the old one?

The one that says

“YOU are Awesome Amy”

After all, the voice telling me I’m awesome comes from my Dad. My mom. The God that made me. The voices telling me I’m not are from people who don’t know me and from my own self doubt. Why on earth would I let that voice be louder?

If you are looking for evidence that you are failing, you will find it. There will always be something to tell you that you aren’t enough.

The Instagram highlight reel.

Internet articles designed to prey on your insecurities.

Magazine cover photos.

Convincing yourself that you are not enough is easy.

But what if you stopped and looked for evidence that you are more than enough? What is stopping you from believing that you are awesome?

Believing that you are awesome does not mean believing that you are perfect.

It just means seeing the things you do as awesome.

Take a sink full of dirty dishes. I could look at the dirty dishes and think that I am a lousy house keeper and I’m lazy and gross. Or I could look at the dirty dishes as evidence of tasty food and full tummies. Good job, mama. I kept ’em alive another day.

My squishy tummy could remind me that I have no self control and I’m a slob. Or it could remind me that I grew two babies in this tummy, made memories eating cake with those babies, and this body can jump on the trampoline with those babies, and carry them up the stairs. So many people wish desperately l for the blessings in my life that have given me this round tummy.  Good grief, I’m so grateful for my round tummy.

Believing that you are awesome doesn’t mean being self absorbed and obsessed.

What is the worst that could happen if we lived in a world of people who believed in themselves? That we’d have a self absorbed throng of narcissists running around?

I’m going to let you in on a secret. Narcissists aren’t created by self love. Narcissists are created in deeply rooted insecurities and crippling self loathing.

In the age of selfies and likes and followers, you might think the world already has plenty of people who think they are awesome. But these people don’t really think they are awesome. They want other people to tell them they are awesome. They are so unsure of their awesome-ness, they rely the digital “like” hearts to momentarily soothe their real life broken hearts. They need the volume of the world to be so loud that they can’t hear the little voice relentlessly chanting that they are not enough.

Believing that you are awesome doesn’t mean you don’t want to change anything about yourself.

You can love yourself and still want to lose weight. Love yourself and still want to be a better forgiver. Love yourself and want to be less judgmental.

When was the last time anyone changed for the better because they shamed themselves into it? Have you ever become a better friend because you told yourself you were a crappy one? Have you ever learned to love your body and take care of it because you told yourself you were disgusting?

It serves no one for you to believe that you are anything less than awesome.

Believing that you are awesome doesn’t mean believing anyone else is less awesome.

The world doesn’t need more people who think they stink. The world needs people who love themselves. Really, truly, love themselves.

People who are hurting, hurt people. People who are loved, love people.

Love yourself.

You are awesome. Right now.

That’s the way you were made.