I am made entirely of flaws stitched together with good intentions.

Years ago, when I was asked for my favorite quote, I would reflexively say: “I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.” It’s Augusten Burroughs, author of Running with Scissors, from his book Magical Thinking: True Stories.

I won’t comment on the quality of the books or whether or not I liked them, because I honestly don’t remember. Running with Scissors came out in 2002, and was enormously popular. A New York Times bestseller. It was made into a mediocre movie featuring a cast of stars including Annette Bening, Joseph Fiennes, Alec Baldwin and Gwyneth Paltrow. The book was marketed as a memoir but a lawsuit called its truthfulness into question.

At any rate, I liked reading the popular books of the day 20 or so years ago. Not because they were assured to be high quality but because I liked trying to understand why they consumed the popular consciousness. I don’t read popular books anymore because I don’t actually have much interest in the popular consciousness.

All of that said, I do still love this quote. It resonates with me. It asserts a humility that is sorely lacking in today’s culture. Can you imagine anyone saying this today? Everything is You go girl! books and podcasts and they all say the same thing: you’re awesome. You have no flaws. And anyone who doesn’t agree should be cut out of your life!

We are supposed to be proud of everything we are, everything we’ve done. We shout our abortions. Shame is a terrible thing (“no kink-shaming!) and total self-acceptance is the key to happiness. The body positivity movement dictates that we can be healthy at any size (we can’t) and if a person who weighs 450 pounds can’t fit in an airplane seat and needs to buy two, it’s the airline’s fat-phobia not gluttony and lack of activity that is to blame.

I reject all of that. Not everything we are is something to be proud of. Which doesn’t mean we are bad people. But we sometimes do bad things, have bad habits, and harm ourselves and others with those habits. Being overweight doesn’t make you a bad person. But it’s still not healthy. (And by the way, everyone actually knows this or they wouldn’t be gobbling Ozempic like Skittles.)

Of the many alcoholics and addicts I know who have recovered, they all talk about shame as a driving force in their recovery. If you don’t feel shame when you steal from your family to fuel a drug addiction, or wake up next to a dumpster after a bender, or sell family heirlooms to pay off gambling debts, then you have no bottom nor humanity.

While I haven’t done any of those things (I’m not an addict), I have personality traits I’m not proud of and I have certainly done things in my life that still bring me a sense of shame. Here’s some of it:

1. I hold a grudge. Try as I might, I just do. I will never not be mad at my former friends, colleagues and citizens of San Francisco for dragging me across the internet because of my anti-lockdown stance during covid. Forget that there have been no apologies — and I don’t expect that there will be — their cruelty is just not something I’m easily getting past. I don’t think about it much. It doesn’t rule my emotions or my day to day existence. But if I think about it, I’m angry. I know I know . . . holding on to anger at someone is like drinking poison and waiting for that person to die. Or whatever the saying is. But I’m mad. I’m not above staying mad. And I probably won’t let go of it any time soon.

2. I’m not so great at apologizing — mostly just to my husband. Who is the one person I should be great at apologizing to. For most of my life, I’ve spent my time thinking everything is my fault. At work in the corporate world, I’d take the blame and point the finger at myself even when something went wrong completely outside of my purview. When I was very young and working at an ad agency, a massive mistake was made and a whole bunch of point of sale material was printed in the wrong size. It was a massive expense to reprint it and the agency had to eat the cost. We couldn’t pass it on to the client because it was our fault. As a very junior account person, was it my job to check and re-check the “mechanicals” (as they were called back in the day)? Or was it the print producer’s job? Probably the producer’s. But I felt I should have caught it. I took the blame. I can’t believe I didn’t get fired, to this day. It was a mistake that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

   But somehow with my husband, I’m slow to admit to mistakes and apologize. I don’t know why. I think probably because in my first marriage I was quick to take the blame for everything and somewhere along the line I decided I wouldn’t do that anymore. But I’ve over-corrected.

3. I’m impatient. During my time at Levi’s, whenever I had to get those 360° reviews, the most consistent “feedback” was that I went to fast, and I expressed impatience and frustration with those who didn’t keep up. That’s entirely true. And while it’s fair feedback — as a leader you have a responsibility to communicate in a way that brings people along — I’m glad now to be left to do it my way and go as fast as I like. If you can’t keep up, then that’s on you.

   I’m pretty patient with my kids. So that’s a good thing.

4. I can be in my own head and highly distracted. My husband will tell me things multiple times and I don’t retain them because I’m not actually listening. He gets mad, rightly so. And I fail to apologize appropriately (see point 2 above).

5. I get stressed and anxious. Mostly I take it out on myself by picking my cuticles and just being generally wound up. Generally I’m pretty stoic when I’m stressed. I never yell. Certainly not at people I work with. I save the short-tempered-ness for my family. Nice of me!

   In my last 5-7 years at Levi’s I was never stressed. The job had gotten pretty easy for me, in fact. It wasn’t particularly challenging. There was rarely, if ever, a problem that I didn’t have an intuitive sense of how to fix. And that intuitive sense was grounded in data and facts and 30 years of experience. But now, in the wild west of start up land, it is always stressful. There are never enough people to do the work. There is always more work to be done. We have amazing days and less amazing days and I always feel like my luck is going to run out. But that keeps me hungry and fighting. So the flip side of near constant anxiety is I keep pushing myself to do more, to do better. To keep going.

6. I’m not short tempered — I don’t lose my temper easily or even get angry, but I am long tempered. (See #1 — hold a grudge). I will stay angry and I might even try to get you back. Not in a vengeful way. But if it’s bad enough, I might write a book or something, long after the people who did me wrong have forgotten about me. I wrote about my abusive coaches in gymnastics more than 2 decades after I’d left their gym. I named names. And unlike Augusten Burroughs, there were no lawsuits. Because it was all true, despite the fact that a bevy of ex-gymnasts and fans of the sport (desperate to believe it was sunshine and roses lest their viewing enjoyment be interfered with) accused me of lying about all of it.

7. I’m somewhat vain. Not terribly so. But I dye my hair and get some Botox. I’m not nuts. But I do sort of wish I could just go fully gray and wrinkly and be ok with it and I’m not quite there. I don’t get fillers or plastic surgery and truth be told I don’t really think too much about my appearance. But every once in a while I catch a glimpse in the mirror and think oh no. what happened. 55 happened. That’s what. And then I move on.

8. I’m a compulsive cleaner. I can’t relax if the house is not in order. And I’m snippy at my housemates (also known as my children and my husband) if they don’t care to contribute to making the house as tidy as I’d like it to be. Which is tidier than necessary.

9. I’m competitive. Mostly with myself. I don’t get jealous. I don’t compare myself to others. But I don’t like to lose. I didn’t ever want to get a bad grade. I’m not competitive about dumb things like . . . having a nice car or my kids going to the best college. But when it comes to my own achievements, I’m a beast. It’s contained and mostly turned inward. And I’ve learned to embrace it — though I tried running from it in my 20s. But everything I’ve ever done that I’m proud of has mostly come from that competitor’s ire. (Besides my marriage and kids.) But some might consider an ugly quality. And it can present that way if you’re willing to do anything to win. I’m not. I’m not a cheater. But I’m willing to push myself very hard, and have done so in the past to the point of being unhealthy.

I’m not sure these are all flaws, some for sure are. But this is what I felt when I read the Burrough’s quote: I am made entirely of flaws stitched together with good intentions.

I’m not a calm, peaceful person. I hate yoga. I don’t want to be told to be calmer. I’m a striver and a wanter and not one to ever just be at peace.

I’m also not proud of having had an eating disorder (it just seems so weak to me) and I still feel ashamed that I fell prey to such 1980’s pathetic self-harm. And getting a divorce felt incredibly shameful to me for many years though I know it was the right decision for me and for him. But I won’t do that thing where I go I’ll never feel ashamed about it or regret it because it gave me my two oldest children. I can’t imagine life without them. But telling my children we were separating was one of — if not the — worst days of my life. I failed them. So I’ll never not feel a tinge of shame about it all.

Are these the worst traits/behaviors? No. Am I liar or thief or an unkind person? No. Am I ashamed of things that have landed me in the public eye? No. I’m proud of those, in fact. In every instance — speaking out about abuse in sport, fighting covid restrictions, and standing up for female athletes and against gender ideology — I was defamed and lost a lot and it would be an easier existence today if I’d just gone along to get along. I didn’t. And I have zero regrets on that front.

We need humility to make a comeback. The excessive pride touted as “self-esteem” by popular culture, social media, educators and therapists may be well-intentioned but it has turned into a debilitating flaw.