It’s feeling more and more difficult to use this space to express anything of substance. I used to pour my heart out onto this blog, exposed for all the world to see, my inner-most sentiments laid bare for any passerby to interpret however they wished. But in the three years that I’ve kept this site, I’ve been learning that while honesty is the best policy, it’s not always meant for the masses – and that certain things should be saved for those precious few who are closest to me.
So unless I’m blogging about my undergarments or confessing my fascination with Lady Gaga, sometimes it’s hard to know what to share.
For example, yesterday, I had a melt-down. Like, a full-on, forehead-to-desk sob fest.
Did my heart get broken? Did I get horrible news? Did I go bankrupt? Did someone ask when my baby is due?
I wish. At least then this melt-down would have been legitimate.
Oh no, friends – I was just feeling overwhelmed by life – life, and feeling inadequate. I could say a lot more about why I was feeling inadequate, but I realize that the pressure we women put on ourselves to be extraordinary in every area of our lives is ridiculous – and damn it, Elizabeth Gilbert thinks so, too. So there.
Anyway, I hope that you’ll stick with me as I continue to navigate what to say in this space, and in the meantime, settle for the little details from my life – like the fact that last night, I bought a fancy ruffly tank top from T.J. Maxx, only to get home and discover that it was a romper.
What’s a romper?
Something that I should never, ever wear: a tank top with sewn-in short-shorts.
At least I didn’t say “sewn-in crotch.”