One of my best good friends, Trish, posted this over in one of our FB groups. Do yourself a little favor and read it. Then come back.
Unmade Beds vs. Pristine Pillows.
I know already, who I am, have been and always will be. . . and along the way I’ve had moments of envy of the Pristine Pillows, I’ve had moments to try to emulate a Pristine Pillow, and I’ve had moments of disgrace because I was TRYING to be a Pristine Pillow.
Disgrace that came from not being my authentic true self. I used to work with a girl, who I just thought was the cat’s meow. She was beautiful, and mysterious, and never left the house without full face makeup and hair, who had a regimen of facial cleansing that would meet military standards. She wore dresses to the bar to sing karaoke, she never told anyone her age and she had that air about her that made the boys just swoon.
She was a “friend” I thought, until she betrayed me when I was home for Christmas. She betrayed me again before the job was finished. I was amazed at how hurt I was by this, until I realized my part in it. If I hadn’t been so hellbent on being like her, being a Pristine Pillow, and I could have just embraced my Unmade Bed self…who would have given two shits? Not this girl. But it was a lesson I needed to learn, and thank God I learned it while still in my 20’s. It’s made the past decade, and my future ones a hella lot more comfortable and fun.
There are still moments of Pristine Pillow in my life, and I do try to make my bed daily on account of my need for organization and peace in the home, I rarely leave the house without mascara and lipstick, and when guests come to my home I turn into a Meth version of Martha Stewart.
However, on any given Sunday, just look a little closer…
That inner Unmade Bed is as rumpled and comfortable and shining through.