Today, somehow, I stumbled on her Instagram account. Which I thought I had blocked so I couldn’t see her, and she couldn’t see me.
As my intention earlier this week, to mirror the actions of my boys, and to promote confidence and self love of my reflection I have started a new Instagram account on the quiet, complimenting my look or even making fun of it. It’s a tough old world out there, and in my head, being a Mum, wanting to keep up with the immaculate school mum’s or the seriously yoga honed forty-somethings. So an Instagram account to remind myself, I am doing ok, I am dressing appropriately and even if I am not, that’s ok too.
Why Instagram thought I might like to follow her I don’t know. Was it cruel? Or just for kicks? But curiosity killed the cat.
I only had 2 thoughts as I flicked through the images.
The first in response to all the beautiful beach photos – whose poor husband have you conned now into paying for your yoga retreats and travel addiction?
The second in response to a quote that read ‘Take a selfie, fake a life’ – but I have the countless selfies you took of yourself, in my house proving to yourself that you weren’t living a fake life…??
I did not like my bitchy brain. But I did like the fact that it doesn’t look like she is anywhere in this hemisphere.
It was a tangle of thoughts, just like the weeds and unwanted, unsuspecting plants I pulled out and threw on the bonfire today. They are gone. They are no longer in my beds.
And neither is she.
And so I moved on. I got on with my real life, the one I have created from the depths of despair, and created it from true spirituality, the ability to connect with love and belonging, despite everything.