It seemed to start out so harmless. Replying, “I’m good.” when I’m dying inside. Posting a picture of me smiling when I’ve cried multiple times that day. Then it turned into a game. Maybe, just maybe if I convinced everyone I’m fine, I’ll actually feel fine.  

But when did this game become toxic? Make me feel like not enough. My home. My relationships. My job. My body. My children I don’t even have yet. All the sudden, not enough. Not even measuring up.

Why are we using products, social media, and anything of value to prove ourselves? Prove we are happy. Prove we are enough. Staging every scene and over editing every shot to make our walls look whiter and our skin look clearer. Our friends, family, and people we barely know peer into the windows of our lives, as we ourselves peer into the windows of others. And these windows into our lives display the seemingly flawless and perfect. The dust doesn’t stick, the husbands and children are well dressed, the bodies are tone and tight, the decor is up to date, and the natural light never ends. 

Isn’t it time for us to wave a big BS flag? 

I honestly don’t allow people into my life unless I’ve deemed them as just as much of a mess, if not more, as me. But I admire many women who have shamelessly let me into their lives. Through dinner dates with children running around in underwear, stories typed onto posts, and words pressed into paper. Reminding me that they are human, mess-ups, and failures …just like me. They have cheerios stuck on their walls and adult acne and dust and it’s okay. I’m okay. Through them I finally felt something new. Like I belonged. Like I was known. Like I was enough. Like I was a part of a misfit group of women who were open, real, and honest. They are the bravest women I know. 

So I’m picking up a rock and I would like to invite you to pick one up as well. And throw it. Hard.  At the windows into my life that has kept you from climbing in. Here, I’ll give you a boost. Come in. Walk two steps in and you’ll realizing that every picture perfect display of my life has been a facade. Nothing about me or my life is perfect. 

These shattering windows are my war cry against every single lie that has tried to convince me that I don't measure up. 

 

 

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