A few days ago, somebody asked me if I’m proud of myself. My self-analysis lasted only a few seconds and my answer was an overwhelming ‘yes’.

During the course of the afternoon I went back to meditate my answer. Pondered my mistakes and accomplishments by a not so shallow balance of me, including those times when my decisions were not the best. I considered the value of come to light publicly, showing my face and my inner on a blog, in social networks, on several websites and of course, adding everything you don’t know about me, my private life.

I’m not perfect, but I feel good with myself and that’s what matters to me.

My mind was working in the background as that evening of laughter and confidences passed. When we were saying goodbye, my smile broadened and, to the surprise of my accompanying, I went on that question that had made me hours earlier.

Yes, I am proud of myself. I could save tremendous obstacles that would sunk someone weaker, I managed to make my life as I want to live it, I’m not the best nor the worst, although I am not mediocre, I own slaves that serve me and friends as the person with whom I was talking, people of whom I am proud, people I appreciate and make me feel appreciated.

I’m not a paragon of virtue, my flaws are not a few, but the final result of my deliberations is still that ‘yes’ resounding supported by the fact of being a happy and sure of myself woman (and not everyone can say this) 馃槈

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