That’s not my most impressive graphic, but it is an actual picture of my kitchen sink at this very moment that I took on my cell phone just now to illustrate my point for this post.
Every few weeks (maybe more often) there’s a general lament around the blog world about how inauthentic blogging can be because people aren’t always apt to sharing the less glamorous parts of their lives. Or, let’s really be real – the unhappy parts.
I know I’m “guilty” of that, if that’s a thing to be guilty of. And I’m not sure it is. But often when I want to sit down and write out a big, venting “Guess what’s not perfect about my life” post, I just don’t feel up to the task.
I mean, I have one little baby girl, in perfect health, with a cheerful disposition, that I get to stay home and play with, married to her father, who provides us with everything we need and most things we want, with a roof over our heads, food in the fridge, and even enough leftover to keep two large dogs happy and comfortable.
Compared to 99% of the world, my life is pretty frickin’ idyllic.
So when I want to sit down today and whine about how I am eating blue box mac and cheese for breakfast made with butter and water because we’re out of milk and I haven’t/won’t get to the store today because I only got 3 hours of sleep last night and I don’t think I should be operating heavy machinery especially with said baby in the backseat and I just figured out that the smell I’m smelling is these pajama pants I threw on because I put them back on the closet shelf when they were supposed to be in the hamper because said baby spit on up them a number of times I don’t even remember and oh my gosh she’s already up from her morning nap….
Even though right now it feels like The Struggle™, in the grand scheme of things it just seems petty.
So I say nothing.
Is that whitewashing? Maybe. I don’t know that that’s a bad thing, though. Because, let’s be honest, most of the things we’d get on here to gripe about have to do with family. The cutting remark. The bad attitude. The horrible, no good, awful day. I don’t like talking about those much either.
A lot of you, maybe most of you reading this right now, the only way you’ll ever know SoldierMan or Baby G is through me and this blog. That’s a really big responsibility that I try to take seriously. I understand the desire for empathy and the need for a “safe” place to vent. But I (try to) avoid telling those stories. Not because they aren’t real or true or part of normal life. But because you only hear one side. And also because I don’t think a personal blog is a constructive place for family therapy.
And we all know those people who use their blogs to put down their spouses and kids to make themselves look better, they’re dying for someone to say, “You poor suffering saint! Those ungrateful ogres are so lucky to have you! I don’t know how you put up with them!” I stop reading those blogs. I don’t want to even give that impression.
So I say nothing.
Maybe that’s not the perfect solution. But it’s mine.
So now I have a diaper to clean and dishes to wash and dogs to feed…and pants to change. That’s my dirty life.