I have a friend right now who is– after many years of avoiding– finally getting help for her OCD. It’s been a journey even to summon the courage to get a diagnosis, and I’m so terribly proud of her.

One thing my friend said to me was that she was afraid to admit to people that she was broken … and that that would be the only way they’d see her from then on.

I turned the tables on her, asking, “Is that how you see me? Forever broken?”

She said, “Of course not. Quite the opposite– I’ve always admired (and envied) your strength!”

The truth of the matter is that we’re all broken. But– in my life– every time I have ponied up and shared my vulnerabilities with others, I have been met with love. I have literally had friends tell me, after I’ve confessed my struggles, “This makes me love you even more.”

If you’re like me, you’re a bit (or more) repulsed by people who “are perfect.” How in the world can they possibly understand my life? Won’t they judge me? It has to be an act, right?

I’m drawn to the real, the genuine, the honest, broken authenticity that comes when people vulnerably acknowledge their brokenness.

My own brokenness has been met, time and time again, with grace that is more precious to me than saving face.

I hope that will be your experience too.