Lately, I’ve redeveloped an old bad habit that I’d kicked for a while, and I’d happily guess that it’s something you’re guilty of too – comparing my life to everyone’s Instagram life.
I hadn’t noticed it until a few people pointed out recently, on completely separate occasions, that I have a particular style of instagraming (is that a word? I’m using it as a word). Quite often, what I choose to share is something I’ve made- a crocheted cowl, a blanket, a cake I’ve baked, a woven wall hanging, anything I spend my evenings creating. I’ve also been asked how I get the time to do it all, which is simple – I’m a terrrrrrible sleeper. I could be up at 3am making something just because the idea came into my head – I still do all my cleaning, laundry, cooking and other joyous activities that accompany adult life at a more acceptable hour.
Whilst I obviously spend a lot of my time making things, my instagram account isn’t a true representation of how I actually live. I do make stuff all the time, and that looks pretty on instagram, but in reality, I work hard at a full-time job and then come home to cooking and cleaning, I’m usually knackered, there is yarn and crochet hooks everywhere and I have 4 bags of self raising flour and 2kg of dark muscavado sugar in the cupboard that I don’t know what to make with. (Seriously, any recipes for dark muscavado sugar let me know- major sugar buying error.) I’m not complaining – that’s just how it is, and I’m happy being a busy bee.
It may have a a link to the fact that I’m 25 and living in a mobile in my parents garden (again, not complaining, just fact), but whilst everyone sees my happy little crafting life, I’m wandering through instagram finding other 25-year-olds with a house, a better job, a better car, a fabulous wardrobe, better legs, a better diet, time for the gym (now there’s a mystery)- the list goes on – and wondering how the heck did they get it together so quickly?!
Where have I gone wrong? Why don’t I have a real house? WHERE are my Jimmy Choos?
In reality, those girls probably haven’t got it all together; they might be lonely (there’s only one Paddy, and I’ve got him), they could hate their job, they might want a bigger house, a smaller car, a smaller waist, longer hair – the list goes on again. We only see what they want us to see, a small representation of who they really are, and we seem to think that if we can somehow obtain everything they have or do everything they do our lives will be better for it.
For now, my challenge is trying to be content in our 28x12ft box, because someone could be looking on at my photos and wishing they had what I do, and I’m grateful for it.
We don’t know what goes on behind everyone’s little squares, so how about we all stop comparing ourselves to them?