Social media. It’s a double-edged sword.
I have used it many times to discover people in need and help them. I love that.
I used it to make a Pineapple Angel Food Cake that exploded in my oven but that my kids ate anyway. I love that. What an adventure!
But, ugh. Sometimes it’s just not a good idea.
According to many of my friends on Pinterest, you must have washboard abs and ridiculously skinny (and muscular) legs, and unrealistically large breasts, while also making (and presumably sampling) cake pops and bacon wrapped bacon smothered in bacon wearing a retro vintage apron that you made yourself in your kitchen with distressed cabinets that you did yourself.
That’s never going to work, people.
I am still not getting how looking at women in nothing but some kind of skimpy pair of shorts/underwear/workout clothes(?) that until recently I wouldn’t have been able to find unless I subscribed to Playboy or Hustler, is “Fitness Motivation.” (The below photo was actually found on a board called “Fitness Motivation.” For real.)Fitness Motivation? I Don’t Think So. This Is Porn. Also, It’s Objectifying Women.
Or, as they would say in bloggy speak:
Just. not. getting. it.
(Am I supposed to capitalize all those words? See, this is why I know I am not a real blogger.)
What are we doing here, ladies? It seems like, once again, social media has been hijacked by some kind of weirdness. Why can’t it be more like this?:
I don’t know why. Those women also look more like normal women than all the other ones I see on Pinterest. Plus, that’s funny.
So, I am going to be a rebel. I just feel like being an opinionated sassy pants today, so I am going to be brutally honest and anti-Pinterest.
I am going to admit on my blog and in front of all the world (including Pinterest), things that may blow your mind.
So, stop reading now if you are faint of heart.
If you are up for a life changing experience, grab a plate of your “So Good It Can’t Be Described, Explosion on Your Taste Buds Chicken” (probably one of the most popular pins I’ve seen), and get ready to be entertained. Or mind-blown.
1. I don’t care that I am fat.
Yes, I do want to lose some weight. I would like to ride a horse and not make it feel scared when it sees me.
But, I am pretty content with how I look right now. And I have a full length floor to ceiling mirror in my bathroom. I see myself naked every day.
At first it scared me, but I am coming to terms with my stretch marks, rolls and jiggliness.
Other people probably aren’t.
But, I eat really, really healthy. I exercise daily. I am doing my best. My blood pressure, cholesterol, and other things are just fine.
So, I don’t care to be motivated. I am happy with where I am at. I figured out that 20 years of self-loathing and worrying and complaining and “fitness motivation” have done nothing except make me dissatisfied and discontent.
I realized I just have accept that I am beautiful right now, and I have. Even if I get made fun of when I am walking, or even if people snicker.
It doesn’t bother me. I know that a great part of my physical flaws stem directly from having children. So, I have decided it was worth it, and a 10 year weight loss plan seems reasonable to me.
2.I don’t ever want to have washboard abs.
I don’t care. I am not a body builder or an Olympian. I don’t want to spend time on that in my life.
I have kids and I want to be slightly round on purpose.
It’s more comfortable to sit in a lap that is soft.
Or lean on a shoulder without taking out an eye from something so jagged and bony.
I want my husband to be able to pinch my rear end without breaking a finger on a bun of steel.
I am so happy for other people in their quest to run 1,000K Marathons, but I think 5 or 10K is probably where I would draw the line.
I have a friend who is like 7 months pregnant who just participated in a triathlon. I know it’s important to her and I am in utter awe of her abilities and discipline.
But, I don’t have to do that. I love and admire that she did (and does).
But my idea of a triathlon when I am 7 months pregnant is:
Getting Out Of Bed
Going To The Bathroom
Getting Back In Bed
That’s just me. And that’s okay. I am happy with that. And my triathlon loving friend is okay with it, too. And she still loves me and we like each other partly because we are different.
3. I am not a gourmet chef and I no longer care.
Oh, for a while, I cared. But, I am kitchen disabled. I think it has something to do with the fact that I have morning sickness for the majority of every pregnancy, and that’s been about eight years total…it’s kind of ruined me as far as cooking goes.
I can make a simple salad. (I must add, however, that my family does not like me to cut the vegetables, as they are best described as “hacked,” not “chopped.”)
That is about as far as I can go.
I have attempted all other kinds of cooking, sometimes with disastrous, life-threatening results.
I will never be a gourmet. And I am okay with that. Sometimes, even though it looks like goo, it tastes okay.
4. My Husband And I Don’t Always Get Along.
Yes, I married the love of my life. Yes, we are in it forever.
Sometimes I don’t like him, though. And sometimes he doesn’t like me.
And, I am happy for people who have never fought with each other, and who never fight in front of their children, and I admire them for living the ideal.
But, you know, my husband and I are just not that mature.
Sometimes we sound like children.
Sometimes it’s embarrassing.
We both have an opinion about everything, and sometimes that ends up in silly, inane arguing.
And we don’t write love notes to each other, and we don’t do Valentine’s Day, and our last three anniversaries were spent at OB/GYN offices or with a midwife.
We don’t go kayaking and he has never flown me to Paris.
And I don’t care. I don’t want to go to Paris.
And other people do this, and that’s great. But, it’s okay that we don’t.
He has unplugged the toilets I don’t know how many times. He leaves apple cores in random places in the house.
He found my missing blue skirt. He cleans up vomit and messes without batting an eye. When he builds fires, he loses track of time, children, and any sense of living in the same universe as the rest of us.
He eats the failed “So Good It Can’t Be Described, Explosion on Your Taste Buds Chicken” that is burnt and disgusting without gagging.
That’s romantic to me.
And we love each other. But we don’t always get along.
Working on it. Not there yet. Not ever giving up, though.
5. I am not always happy and pleasant with my children.
For some reason, ever since our daughter died, people seem to think that I am “special” or “saintly”. Also, when people hear that I have 12 children, they think that I am “a saint,” too.
I am a Latter-day Saint, but that’s not the same thing. I feel so awkward when people say things like, “Your halo is probably so bright and shiny!” (Yes, someone did say this to me once after finding out that I adopted two children…). I may have a halo, but most of the time it is slightly askew or in the shop for repairs…
And, even though our daughter died, I admit that I still get mad at my children that are still here. And I am sometimes less than pleasant.
I read some message board once where this lady with three kids was saying “I can’t stand them sometimes. They drive me crazy. Does anyone else feel like this?” She got blasted from other women, many of whom were struggling with infertility. They said things like,
“If I had children, I would never feel that way. I would never say what you have said.”
“I have had several miscarriages, and what you said makes me sick. I can’t imagine how any mother could feel that way.”
I understand where these women are coming from, but they are dealing with what they imagine motherhood would be like–and maybe what it would be like for them, because they are able to handle things like that. Not everyone can.
I felt so sad, because I think what this woman was looking for was some cheering up and validation, and a “Just try again tomorrow,” type of answer, not a “You’re such a jerk for not being perfect” response.
For a long time after Joy died, I was tormented with guilt every time I was less than perfect. So, basically, almost every single day I thought,
“What is wrong with me? I know I could lose them at any time. Why am I not behaving better?”
Well, maybe I could have behaved better, but the gospel talks about getting brighter and brighter until the perfect day, not
“Wow. Something bad happened to you. Tomorrow you will wake up and be perfect.”
I had to come to terms with that.
It’s not an excuse not to try and have perfect days. I still try every day to give it my best shot. That is really important.
But, I am not always pleasant, and things are not always great. And we don’t always like being around each other.
Mostly, we do. But, sometimes, we don’t.
And, maybe there are some people who can always put on a smile and never feel less than perfect. And I think that would be wonderful. But, I’m not there yet.
So, there. My opinionated self feels better getting all of that out in the open! And now, I feel more open and honest, and I am glad we had this little conversation.
I suppose it would be appropriate to end this post with something from Pinterest–or if not appropriate, then ironic. Because while it can be irritating at times, social media can also be inspiring: