Why I'll Never Have An Instagram-Worthy Anything

 

When I started The Momoirs my goal was to be as real as possible; a modern day truth teller. I even made the tagline ‘life; un-edited’ because I so believe that great community is built upon the honest sharing of ourselves. Being vulnerable isn’t hard for me; in fact, it’s my strong suit. I’ve been blurring the lines on appropriate sharing for as long as I can remember. “Oh hi, we’ve just met - now do you want to talk about our sex life or depression?”  I’ve lived enough of my life trying to tame myself, trying to not be ‘too much’ - it never ends well. I’ll be real here, I’ve been experiencing pressure lately. I feel inadequate and while I adore writing, sharing and creating - I feel like I can’t keep up. 

Social Media has always been a fickle bitch. I love it and it drives me batty. It’s easy to scroll through the best 25% of a person’s life and think they’ve made it; they are happy and successful, their children are beautiful, they are stylish and cool and having lots of steamy sex. They attend all the hip events and eat at all the best restaurants. They vacation, often, and do it in style. I still buy into it sometimes, especially now that I blog. I don’t really love blogging, to be honest. I love writing. Blogging isn’t only writing. Blogging requires selling myself. It makes me worry that my Instagram feed isn’t cohesive enough. It makes me search for the best hashtags. Blogging makes me ADD the f*ck out over Twitter, Pinterest, Facebook and Instagram; and makes me concerned with how many likes/comments/shares/engagement/followers I have and omgpleasehelpmethisismakingmeinsane. Blogging makes me painstakingly edit my photos and then give up in a mad fit of rage. Do you know how hard it is to learn how to run a website? I didn’t. I thought I was smart; savvy even. Nope, I’m not. I struggle completely with every piece of design on my site. Most times it makes me want to rip off my bra and burn it (just kidding, why would I be wearing a bra at home?). Don't get me wrong; I feel so incredibly blessed that I took this risk and it's working out for me. I wouldn't change a thing. I'm just recognizing that I can't be everything that everyone else is. 

My son saying "No pics mom!" as I try and take an Instagram-worthy shot of him getting on the bus for the first time. 

My son saying "No pics mom!" as I try and take an Instagram-worthy shot of him getting on the bus for the first time. 

My point is that, in the blogging world, I feel like the awkward, scruffy girl who shows up to the party and finds out that it was a costume party. I never knew I was supposed to dress up. I've come to the realization that I will never win ‘Best Costume’. I will never have a cohesive Instagram account because to do that requires planning your posts ahead of time and sticking with a design theme. Which would require me editing my life and sending it off as though it was happening in real time; that doesn’t align with the dream of The Momoirs. My social media accounts will probably never have a daily post because; people, I am too tired. I am too tired of filling my life with things I think I should be doing because everyone else is doing it. I’m exhausted from trying to keep up. I want to create and write because I felt like it. I want to share because my heart is bursting, not because I feel an obligation. 

I will never have an Instagram-worthy home. I love interior design and I think it’s so amazing when a home absolutely reflects your personal style and is functional. It is a big dream of mine to purchase a house I love and fill it with things that I’m proud of. I’d say that about 50% of my stuff I like. The rest I put up with because I can’t afford to replace it or I don’t have the time/energy to search to make all my mid-century modern dreams come true. I’ve actually resisted posting photos of my kids in my house because sometimes I feel a little embarrassed that I’m not more put together. Just typing that out makes me giggle at myself. I’m so glad I got that out. Now I can move on from trying to be a writer and a designer. Because I am not a designer. I'll just continue to gush over those who are; like Kristina (it would make my life so much easier if I just hired her instead of trying to be like her). 

My house. I have no idea what is going on here. I got that vintage lamp for free and I've been holding out for the perfect replacement for years. I still have IKEA furniture. Why do I have windows on my walls? All of these questions, I ask myself daily. 

My house. I have no idea what is going on here. I got that vintage lamp for free and I've been holding out for the perfect replacement for years. I still have IKEA furniture. Why do I have windows on my walls? All of these questions, I ask myself daily. 

I will never have an Instagram-worthy meal. I freaking love food so much. Someday I will cook a really delicious, inspired meal and invite friends over to share in my thoughtful spread. We will drink wine, laugh and eat over candle light with good music playing in the background. My true dream would be to go all Parenthood on that and set up a dream table under the night sky. I promise that I will definitely fucking Instagram the shit out of that; stay tuned for 2027. For now, I sit amongst two wild animals while they get half of the food in their mouths and half on the floor. My husband works long hours and because I am outnumbered by little people, I try to just get through it. I do have brunch dates with friends; they are absolutely a highlight of my life. Usually, there is one kid running around with no pants on, half the food is eaten while the other half is being made and we all look tired. Tired, but so content. Content because even though getting together isn’t easy, is it absolutely necessary to surviving. Pictures aren’t taken here because we do not feel fancy, we don’t even feel cool. We soak up small, intimate conversations while we are surrounded by chaos. After every surface is dirty and each child is crying, we say goodbye and run back home; hungry, because we forgot to feed ourselves. 

So please, dear friends, please take this as my formal resignation towards having an amazing social media presence. I just can’t. I will, however, bring you the best damn mediocre account you ever followed - promise. Don't give up on me; I'm just a person trying to do my best to create a life I love while still being OK with the fact that I don't own any Poppy Barley shoes yet, or that I can't take cool bathtub pics, or that my aesthetic is never going to be perfect.