Sometimes I feel as though I am not a real blogger. But what the heck is a real blogger anyway? I always thought it was someone who has a perfect life, a perfect closet, and an endless amount of ideas. But then I thought “who in the world is perfect?” Blake Lively, maybe, but besides her I honestly can’t think of anyone. I feel like a lot of bloggers that I read emit this sense that their life is a big fact shiny gold bubble of perfection.
I love the people whose blogs I read, but I know that deep down they must have bad days. Don’t they sometimes feel like they don’t have any clothes, even though their closet is filled to the brim with them? Don’t they sometimes burn their food, and in that case have nothing to Instagram? Then I could relate, because these things happen to me too. I am not perfect and nobody is. I just want to let you all know that I am not shaming anyone for making their life look like it’s filled with rainbows and unicorns, I’m just saying that sometimes it’s nice to know that rainbows do come after rain (especially the rain that ruins picture days) and unicorns do poop.
I am guilty of making my life seem better than it is. But I’m no longer going to hide the fact that sometimes I sit in my room on Friday nights reading John Green books for the second (or maybe third time). Or that I trip when I go for runs and cry harder over the fact that my phone just shattered rather than the fact that I’m bleeding. Or how I kill flowers right after I buy them from the store.
So I’m just preparing you for the fact that I am going to start sharing awkward / weird stories about myself on here. They might be sporadically or that might be back to back, it just depends on how particularly awkward I’m feeling.
So yeah, there’s your warning. So go on and be your perfectly imperfect self, just like the rest of us, contrary to popular belief.
