Andrea Nalls

About two years ago I realized I was consciously making purchases, so that I could post them on Facebook.

How. Sick.

I would buy things I didn’t need; I would go out of my way to ask passersby “Will you take our picture”? I would justify my actions by saying I wanted photographic evidence of the fun I’m having, the beauty of the moment, etc.

I would take shameless selfies when my makeup was perfect, my outfit looked great and the natural light was at its peak (best lighting for a flawless face, duh). I was portraying a beautiful life (and I truly do have a pretty good one) but I didn’t learn to appreciate it until I set that iPhone down. It was a quest I undertook with great solemnity. It was all I knew—in the circles I run in, if you don’t post a picture of the gorgeous view from your anniversary night hotel room, than you didn’t stay in that beautiful  4-star resort. If I didn’t post a video of my son’s first steps, I wasn’t as proud of him as other mothers were of their toddlers and if I didn’t display the dozen roses my husband got me on a random Tuesday, than hell, was I even thankful? If I didn’t share examples from my fabulous life, than how would everyone know how successful I am?

A cousin posts a picture of her shiny new SUV with the caption “stopped for an oil change but left with a new car” I roll my eyes.

An ex posts a picture of his chubby new baby and I think to myself “That baby is a little funny looking.”

A coworker bitches about millennials and I think “you are the epitome of what you are complaining about.”

All it takes is a quick scroll of my feed to put me in a bad mood about my messy house or the fact that I haven’t home cooked a meal that is “delicious and keto approved” in months.

I have stopped being happy for my Facebook “friends” and instead feel jealousy that I don’t have their hair, kids, shoes, job, etc. It started when I started using what other people are proud of, as my measuring stick. Who (and looking back, why?) did I feel the need to impress? Perhaps next time I burn the Stouffers frozen lasagna, I will take a picture of it and post it, I wonder how many likes I will get.

I have nothing against Facebook, I have just learned how I best interact with it. And that is with a nonjudgmental eye. And sparingly.

I’m not a fan of the random Facebook rants either. We get it, the car line at your kid’s elementary school sucks. So does ours. Your dog chewed up your favorite pair of shoes? Yeah, mine ate the corner of my kitchen cabinet that I had to replace for upwards of $2,000 bucks. Why are you sharing these mundane details? We all have our own crap to deal with.

I’m happy for you that you went on the vacation of a lifetime, I agree with you that “A day at the beach heals the soul” (insert picture of the rolling waves) and I feel for you that your 11 month old has had a cold for “two months straight”. I want to hear about all of this stuff, I really do, but I want the honest version: the credit card bills, the dirty clothes piles shoved into the closets and every unfiltered thing in between. I, for one, will push that like button, and I can promise you, I won’t be the only one.