I recently had a dear lifelong friend tell me something I can’t shake. You ever have one of those conversations that linger for days and weeks after they happen? We’d had a few cocktails and all kinds of truths were coming out. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I relished in all of it, the raw honesty.
But she shocked me when she said, “You’re so damn perfect all the time. Your life looks fucking perfect…” and “I think my mom wishes I was more like you and it hurts me. I really hate it. I’m a mess, but go around pretending I’m fine, and you…your life just looks perfect.”
In my head I screamed, “Say whaaaaat?!” On the outside, though, I froze. My eyes popped out of my head and my heart sank to the floor. Little does this person know, I’ve looked up to her my entire life, wishing I could be more like her. I used to dress like her in Middle School, dyed my hair like her in High School and tried to follow her lead in College.
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