In my quest to be authentic I realize that it is really a brave and courageous thing to be. It is also very difficult. Every single person on the planet wants to feel like they belong. We want to be liked so we hide the parts of ourselves that don’t fit the narrative. The parts of ourselves that we think with our ego are not good enough for human consumption.

I am not alone, as we all have dirty little secrets that we don’t want people to know about so we give those secrets a safe hiding space in our heads so they can eat away at our self-esteem day after day after day. If only they knew.

The internet allows us the opportunity to out ourselves without taking too much responsibility for the things we do and the things we say. Current culture adds to this perception by giving us some other poor soul’s misfortunes and shortcomings so we can say thank god that isn’t me.

A few weeks ago I was on the line at CVS and one of the magazines had the best and the worst bathing suit bodies. There was one woman with her face covered with a big Guess Who. I gave into my baser instincts and picked the magazine up to see who the celebrity was. While I was looking at her picture I felt compassion and sadness for her as I’m sure millions of people picked up that magazine just to see who she was behind the Guess Who. My mere mortality won out and I listened to my baser instincts and looked in the magazine. It was mean, downright mean of them to put that picture on their cover and mock that poor woman and it was mean of me to look to see who it was.

Every single one of us is the Guess Who of our own horror stories. Do I look fat in these pants, do I need to pluck my eyebrows, do I need to be nice to everyone I meet today? The last question I can answer easily the answer is 75% of the time a definite yes. I know what it feels to be a Guess Who so I try to greet each person I meet with a smile and a kind word. But if you get me angry I can be the biggest b word in the world. I take no prisoners when I am angry.

I also talk and share too much about my life, but once again if God wanted me to have all these experiences I’m sure he wants me to talk about them so other people will see themselves in my words and feel less alone or happy they aren’t me(especially at the moment). No mere mortal is perfect, only Jesus was perfect and I’m pretty sure he’s not walking the earth because if he was tabloid magazines and the Jersey Shore wouldn’t exist.

Why do we make ourselves suffer for so long when the only answer is I am who I am , like me or hate me it doesn’t really matter as long as I like me and I love me.
I’m a 52 year old train wreck. I’m a little on the chubby side, or curvy as I like to call myself. I can be kind and compassionate or I can be downright mean. I hate to have my picture taken because I do not want people to see my face never mind my bikini body(never going to happen). I’m an artist and a writer, I like to think of myself as both whether other people do or not. I can work for hours at a time or get lost in my lazy head every once in a while. I’m a purple democrat. I can never see myself voting for a republican for anything ever again. Close-minded yes but I think once again if Jesus was walking the earth he would be appalled by the trickle-down economics that leave so many people out. IMO that trickle down is urine. I could keep going on for days which is another of my shortcomings I know, but you don’t need to for me to completely list all my qualities and shadows do you?

Bottom line is I am what I am and I have lived all my life hiding my shadows. I know one thing for sure you cannot hide your shadows without hiding some of your light at the same time. Find your shadows accept them, love yourself and move on. Everywhere I go I have an inner voice that tells me I’m beautiful, I’m loved and accepted. Whatever that voice is Thank You!

Find your inner voice and share some of your shadows, as I have found out recently people who love you care about your shadows and those that don’t care about them don’t care about you. Blessings.


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