Annoyingly Honest

Annoyingly Honest

Want to go on a tour of my weird head? Follow me.

I have this annoying relationship with sincerity. It exposes me, or at least certainly does not allow me to play it cool, and it sometimes isolates me. I have what feels like a physical need to speak the truth (just about my own crap, your secrets I can keep and lie about forever).

For instance, if things are rough, like they have been for a while now, I don’t necessarily feel up for telling everyone everything, but I also don’t like to omit truths. So I’m stuck in this vacuum where I have things to say or share, but don’t want to without telling the whole story. Partially, I guess, because I also have an annoying relationship with social responsibility… and I’m afraid I’ll contribute to that famous void online where most things feel a little fake and everyone (understandably) will constantly put their best foot forward, in turn making others feel inadequate.

As a result, I’ll talk to people less and less when really, I need people more than ever. Do you guys do this too?

I started a blog and then didn’t tell anyone about it or really participate in social media, because I felt that I couldn’t commit to posting shiny happy things in the midst of the daily toddler grind, worries and extreme fatigue (which make for SUPER interesting posts). I’m on this odd sort of roller coaster where I’m mentally in the fetal position all day with my strong cup of tea, punctured by huge bursts of joy (usually courtesy of adorable offspring). Mostly it feels like I’m missing a big chunk of information on how to make things work, especially the manual on how to raise two kids while trying to manage chronic illness.

From where I stand, it looks like you guys all got the right brochures in the mail. But after a few very interesting talks with friends lately, I realized that we, for the most part, hugely overestimate each other’s lives. The view is seriously distorted. We think everyone else is so spontaneous, creative, energetic and optimistic. While most my friends, in their late twenties or early thirties, are constantly overwhelmed by grown-up stuff and spend most their evenings buried in their phones after a day with demands no human could possibly meet.

And then, lying there on the sofa after exhausting our mental resources, is where we try to keep swimming. Instead of moaning about things that can’t be changed right now (and we think none of our perfect friends will relate to), we post a picture of something in our lives that isn’t a complete disaster, and talk about how happy that makes us. Which it does! As a fraction of the story.

The biggest problem with this isn’t that we’re “faking it”, we truly are very grateful for this thing we chose to share. What we choose to post or tell people about isn’t really anybodies business, and at the end of the day we need to trust other adults to see the whole picture.

The real problem is, that we’re not giving other people a chance to be there for us when we need them to be.

So now that I’m officially cutting the ribbon of this blog -in order to start from a place of realness- I felt it was important that you knew:

My life is perfect and absolutely impossible at the same time.

 

Regardless of what I may post in the future. Things can get crazy hard around here, and sometimes almost embarrassingly amazing. And I think I also wanted to share this in case your life is also in that same, slightly maddening balance of perfect but impossible, and you needed permission to talk about that.

And you guys. Let’s all check on each other every once in a while, yeah? Nobody’s life is easy, no matter how many times they post sausage legs at the infinity pool.

 



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