Most of my relationships on social media resemble one long first date, albeit one with a lot of snappy comebacks. We’re all using our best lines, wearing our best outfits in the best lighting, having our deepest thoughts, and are endlessly supportive of one another (“You look amazing!” “You’re so funny!” “I love you!”). I’ve made real life friends and forged new work partnerships based solely on this social media back and forth. There is definitely a case to be made.

However.

A few years ago I attended my high school reunion. I was having a hard time that summer and was deep in conversation with a longtime friend about everything I was struggling with. Another good friend, who was many, many drinks in, kept swinging by to blurt something in my face. And every time he did, I had some sort of barb for him about how miserable everything was. After a few of these passes he said, “You know, you’re a lot funnier on Facebook”. Oof. But also? He was (and is) right.

I’ve been reminded of that experience often this year as I’ve put more of myself out there through my writing. Sometimes people I’ve never met before have approached me, other times people I’m connected to through social media (but have never met in person) have buttonholed me while I’m out with my family or friends. And they’ve told me how much they’ve loved a piece I’ve written or that I’m their favorite person on Instagram or Facebook. And you know how I’ve reacted?

In my best moments, I’ve laughed and said thank you like a normal person. In my worst moments (and there have been many), I’ve acted completely confused about what this person was saying to me, especially when it’s concerned my writing. BECAUSE HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME IN PUBLIC ABOUT A PRIVATE THING THAT I PUT OUT THERE IN PUBLIC? See? Not proud. But humans are disappointing. Especially in person.

Mostly I’ve walked away from these interactions feeling dishonest. Like the gap between perception and reality is big enough to drive the state of Texas through. I have no doubt that former co-workers have watched my interactions on social media and thought, “Seriously? She was a total pain in the ass to work with and PS not all that cheery either”. And you know what? THEY’RE RIGHT. THAT’S ME.

It’s never been my intention to deceive or make my life seem perfect or like it’s non-stop fun. Social media just happens to be the place where I choose to do the opposite of what I do in real life — dwell in the light instead of the dark.

To show both sides — and blow the lid off my social media “brand” — I’ve chosen a few photos from our recent trip to Maine. It’s a long trip, three weeks, and I post four to five pictures a day when I’m there. That’s actually me showing some restraint. I’d post twelve photos a day if I thought I wouldn’t lose every last friend I have.

If I ever had any doubts that this trip can push some people over the edge, I think my real life friend Vanessa’s comment on my first post — before we even left — leaves no room for interpretation. This is why we’re friends, zero fucks. And the supportive likes it garnered? Just more nails in the “Oh God will you shut the fuck up” coffin.

What I posted (and where that comment came from):

What was really happening:

Yeah, damn right I was excited to go on vacation for three weeks. But also? I had lost one of my biggest clients — a regular client that I’ve had for almost seven years — just three days before we left. And this wasn’t just any client (clients come and go all the time), this was a guarantees-our-mortgage-gets-paid-every-month type of client. I didn’t post about that, or the fact that it happened suddenly without warning, or that I’d be off for three weeks, not making any money to replace the money that was going away. Nope, just vintage bags and beach hats and sparklers. Get me the fuck out of here.

What I posted:

What was really happening:

This day was actually pretty fun, my kids and I went to a flea market and ran errands which, while not fun, we’re still on vacation so boo hoo whatever. But this was also the first day that I started to feel anxious. And not just “I’m a little worried about losing that client” anxious, but feeling wide ranging panic about being around people. Being out in the world. Being anywhere except the ocean. Clearly not a sustainable way to live unless you’re a sea captain. You know what doesn’t help quell anxiety? Eating these god damn sugar crack donuts and washing them down with black cold brewed coffee. That’s what.

What I posted:

What was really happening:

This was a piece I originally submitted to McSweeney’s. Yes, I wrote it on vacation and yes I actually did a ton of writing on vacation. I started multiple pieces and finished a couple. All good things. Peppy caption aside, this piece was rejected faster than anything I’ve ever submitted. I’ve had a lot of pieces rejected and I deal with it pretty well, I let it go quickly. But I felt like I was in a writing slump and had hoped that an acceptance would give me the momentum I needed to turn it around. But turns out, NO MOMENTUM FOR YOU. I still liked the piece and wanted it out there, even if it meant posting it to Medium — Where humor pieces go to die™. It received the lowest number of viewings and reads of any piece I’ve put on the site ever. Ever. Yaaaaaaaaay. Fuck.

What I posted:

What was really happening:

We were getting ready for a family visit and we couldn’t wait to see everyone. Except this was the day my anxiety decided to explode for real. I felt like I couldn’t go anywhere — for a drive, to the market, to a restaurant — without feeling panicked and dizzy. To say the timing was terrible is an understatement. I did my best to jump in and have a great time, and I did, but I was in my head a lot.

I was so exhausted by the inner workings of my mind that I fell asleep on the beach one day, piled under towels. Another day, as my aunt and I scurried out to hit an antique store together, I completely melted down when she made a casual unrelated-to-me mention of anxiety. It all came tumbling out, the stress I was feeling, the panic attacks, how afraid I was of everything. I spent a half hour sobbing in her car, in an antique store parking lot. God damn it. You sure as shit didn’t see that on Instagram.

What I posted:

What was really happening:

Whenever I wake up early and truly feel awake (sometimes as early as 3:30 a.m.), I just get up and start writing. I love that quiet early morning time when no one is awake but me and the birds. But what woke me up this particular morning wasn’t the fact that I felt rested or that I wanted to write, I woke up awash in stress and fear. Not about the beginning of school but about everything, real and imagined. Things that hadn’t even happened and might never happen. I finally sat bolt upright, as if waking up from a nightmare, just to get away from my thoughts. Seeing the sunrise is one of my favorite things about being at the beach, but not when I have to see it this way.

What I posted:

What was really happening:

I always forget that our last week of vacation represents a general unspooling of good will between my kids. They share a room in our tiny cottage and they’re together constantly, never a reprieve. They almost came to blows a couple of times, there was a lot of shoving and hitting, and a lot of screaming from all of us. There was more than a little mandatory “alone time”. There was not an abundance of what you see here. She bit him 90 seconds after this picture was taken.

What I posted:

What was really happening:

There’s actually a lot of truth in this one. Yes, our cat pissed and shit all over our couch for two weeks straight and it had to be taken to the dump. Yes, the garden just about saved us because otherwise I probably would’ve just burned the house to the ground and left my family to start a new life. Coming back from this particular trip is always rough, but this time was the actual worst. My husband and I snapped at each other from the minute we walked in the door. I burst into tears at one point, so pissed about everything, so wanting to choke the life out of our cat with my bare hands, so not ready to face everything that was about to crash down around me. Basically — just such a big fat crybaby about every damn thing.

You get the idea. Amidst all of the photos of crashing waves, beach fires, and ice cold beer, there were so many things I didn’t show. Usually the gap between my day and what I post isn’t as wide as some of the examples above but hey, sometimes it is.

Call it lying, call it coping, I really don’t care. The photos I posted weren’t false, those things happened, and they were great. But they also don’t represent the whole story. Does anything on social media? Or in life? Do you go up to people at cocktail parties and immediately launch into how rotten your kids are or talk about the weird rash you have on your … leg … or the fact that you feel unloved? Sounds like a fun party.

As for me, things have settled down. I’m feeling better, bit by bit. Work is flooding in. Life feels good and busy again. But the days and weeks since we returned haven’t been perfect because life isn’t perfect. Since we’ve been back, yes, I still post and joke and write as if a thousand thoughts aren’t constantly fist fighting in every corner of my brain. (Newest thought: do brains have corners?)

The truth is my natural default is to always look for what’s missing, what’s not working, to fix it, to get better. I brush past the successes and want to obliterate the failures. This has made me very good at my job. But sometimes it’s also made me kind of shitty at life.

From the moment I signed up for Facebook and was peer pressured into joining Instagram, my goal has been to try and find the beauty or the funny in each day. I want to catch the light, the moment, or distract myself from all the bullshit by arranging things on the floor. Is it annoying to look at arrangements of stuff on a floor? I bet it is. But too bad, Internet, it’s the closest I’ll ever get to meditating. It’s an exercise in engaging the visual part of my brain, like solving a puzzle. It helps.

I believe social media is a great tool for appreciating your life and a chance to shift your focus away from the dirty dishes and disappointments we all deal with. I want to search for the moments when my kids are hilarious or beautiful or suddenly grown up. I don’t want to focus on the screaming matches, the messy rooms, the not listening, the eye rolling, the late homework, the way our stress and worry and overwhelmedness overlaps and explodes sometimes. Like the time I couldn’t take my kids ignoring what I was saying for one more minute and took the bowl full of spaghetti that I was holding — my god damn dinner no less — and smashed it on the floor. After both kids stopped yelling, “WHOA WHOA WHOA”, my son chimed in with, “You need some strategies for dealing with your anger”. He was ten at the time. Who’s awesome now?

Not me. Maybe not you. And that’s really okay.