I try really hard not to perpetrate the illusion of perfection on social media and the internet. Even as transparent I try to be, I still photograph and curate what I deem to be “Instagram worthy” meals, and not show the pictures of my kids David Hasselhoff-ing the shit outta their Happy Meals. In the spirit of this, I will do a #realtalk introduction of myself by sharing the less than ideal things about about me:
- The older I get, the crappier I am at texting. I will read a message and either respond immediately, or get distracted and forget to respond for 12 hours or 2 weeks. There is very few in betweens.
- I’m really impatient. I loathe waiting. I won’t wait in lines, I can’t Boxing Day shop, I probably won’t ever go to Disneyland – because the idea of having to wait in line like a herd of cattle boils my blood.
- I had a really rough childhood – and it impacts me to some degree in almost every single aspect of my day to day life. Especially re: food, weight, self worth.
- I use humour as a means of relating to others – I always felt if I couldn’t be the thinnest or prettiest, I’d figure out a way to be the funniest. But I also use humour as a means of self-deprecation, because society has taught us to see it as endearing and it helps me make friends.
- I am a creature of habit, I hate change, and I am so Type A it hurts. I make so many lists that even my lists have lists.
- I have crippling anxiety. Typically well managed, sometimes not. It took me 33 years to surround myself with the people who’ll love me regardless.
I could probably go on. Can’t we all? We look in the mirror every day and see 10 things we’d change before we admire the things we love about ourself. I work daily to make sure my girls know that perfection is never the goal – acceptance is. To love yourself, whatever that looks like for you, til death do you part. When I take a bath with the girls, I show them the shiny white tiger stripes on my belly and boast about how my tummy grew big and round to give them all the room they needed to grow as tiny bubs. I show them the little lines by my eyes and tell them those are the badges of honour we get when we laugh really hard for a really long time. I talk positively about myself so my outter voice becomes their inner voice as they grow.
So, this is me. Rachel. I’m 33. I’m flawed. I’m imperfect. And I hope you’ll stick around a while xo.