Keeping it Real

Blue-Eyed Girl wanted a Pinkie Pie cake for her third birthday. I googled images and found the cutest, simplest cakes and thought it would be no problem to make an awesome one for my little girl.

Here is how it turned out:

Of course I felt horrible, like I had ruined Blue-Eyed Girl's birthday and she would never forgive me.

Do you know what she and Brown-Eyed Boy said when they saw the cake?

"That looks delicious!"

No comment about the sagging layers or the frosting's sickening Pepto-Bismol hue. I wanted to snatch them up in bear hugs that very second.  

Why am I so terrified of making mistakes? Why does the thought of sharing my mistakes make me dry-heave?

 

I know I'm not alone. Most of us share only the sweet, beautiful moments of our lives on social media. I get it. But I'm tired of it. I'm tired of feeling like I have to touch some lofty, unreachable standard of perfection in order to be happy with myself. And when I fail--because, inevitably, I do--I have to keep those failures quietly tucked away lest someone--heaven forbid--discovers that I am less than perfect.

 

I am the one, by the way, who sets those impossible standards. I am the one who condemns the girl in the mirror for her countless flaws. I know, in my heart, that no one else--even on social media--is judging me as harshly as I judge myself.

 

So I'm breaking free. I'm going to start these "Keeping it Real" posts not to convince the world that I am less than perfect, but to convince myself that I can make mistakes, share my mistakes, and still be okay.

 

That I can fall short of that standard and love myself anyway.

 

Taking a deep breath,

The Brown-Eyed Girl