"Practically Imperfect In Every Way"

I was recently reading a blog whose author claimed to be "practically imperfect in every way." When I saw that claim I was excited. I thought, "Oh, good, someone like me!" But the first post I saw was a recipe for something I could never make, complete with a professional-looking photo of said meal that I could never take in my wildest dreams (you should see my photos; they're terrible). And the next few posts followed suit.

I admit I enjoyed some of the posts on the blog (they were funny) and the recipes looked delicious. And of course there's nothing wrong with being good at cooking and photography (I wish I were). BUT I really began to hate this woman and all she stood for. What is with all of the women of the world claiming to be imperfect (which of course we all ARE imperfect) yet when we have a chance to share part of ourselves we decide to only display those parts of us which look pretty close to perfect? It's the old joke about cleaning the house and then when the guests arrive apologizing for the mess.

I'm guilty of this, too. I claim to have a dirty house (and, actually, I do, just ask my family) but if I take a picture I make sure my kids are NOT standing in front of my cluttered desk. And if I invite friends over I clean the house before they come over until it looks like nobody lives in it. I don't allow anyone outside my immediate family to see how I really live (they would probably be pretty disgusted).

The problem is we read blogs or look at pictures on Facebook and we all start to get a complex about ourselves. We think we're the only ones who have dirty houses or yell at our kids or have acne or feel fat or feel sad or feel lonely even when we're surrounded by people or have kids who misbehave or kids who wear their shirts backwards and their shoes on the wrong feet. 

I remember a long time ago a friend of mine just shaking her head in complete bewilderment over the fact that she had actually yelled at her kids once. ONCE. Maybe she really was that perfect or maybe she didn't want me to know the truth. I want to know the truth (up to a point, of course). I don't want to know how anyone's sex life is (please keep THAT private, thank you very much).  But I do want to know if my friends struggle. I want to know for selfish reasons (it makes me feel normal) and I want to know because then I can be a better friend. I can maybe HELP my friend.

We don't want to admit we have a hard time and we don't want to accept help. But I LOVE it when I can help a friend out in a pinch. There is no better feeling than knowing I made someone else's day a little easier. Even if my own day was pretty much awful it will immediately feel better if I can help someone.

I also LOVE knowing a friend trusts me enough to be honest with me about who she really is and what she struggles with because her imperfections are as much a part of her as her strengths are.

We're not doing our friends any favors by hiding our imperfections from them. Let's resist the urge to pretend we're perfect. Let's let our friends visit without cleaning up our houses (this is the hardest for me). Let's take pictures of kids with food on their faces (that's what they look like most the time anyway, let's admit it). Let's admit those things that are hard for us or admit when we're having a hard day. Let's allow people to help us.  Let's stop trying live a catalog family life or we'll all discover someday all we have are catalog family friendships, all superficial and glossy but never real or deep or meaningful. And I don't want to live in a catalog.