Dear Pinterest

I need to tell you a few things about impossible possibility

Dear Pinterest,

In the pinterest of full disclosure, I still love you. Sorta. Maybe love is too much. You inspire me, or well, I mean you USED to inspire me.

In the past I would see the pergola pictures and feel creativity flooding my body because if someone else could do THAT, then I could too!

And the recipes you interspersed with garden trellises and boho tops? Oh, don’t get me started! I mentally checked my pantry list each time I clicked on a new way to eat chickpeas.

And, the hairstyles that kept popping up? Fabulous! And those WOACA? (Women Of A Certain Age) Like me? Gosh, they are so beautiful! I can look like that if they can! And all because I looked up “how do I cut my own hair” during Covid. I am so happy creeped out that you remember me after all the self hair-cutting shenanigans in my bathroom, juggling the phone, scissors, a comb and a mirror all while trying to see the back of my head! Thanks!

The quotes from all those wise celebrities are just SO freakin’ great that I can hardly sit still. Who knew that Sam Elliott wants me to find a man who will ruin my lipstick and not wear my mascara! Yeah, pretty sure that was a typo. But, I will be inspired nonetheless.

I don’t know if I can quit you. ~insert laughing/crying/barfing emoji here~

I actually bought stock in you in 2020, because, well, people were going to want to know how to ‘do stuff’ even if they couldn’t actually go into a store to buy the particle board and lip gloss to get the actual job done. But it would be on their Pinterest page when the government said they were allowed to go out. Of their homes. In a mask. After getting an injection into their body. Which can never be undone. But, that is another story, right? Not our story. Like Overstock dot com is not our story.

You made me some money, that is for sure. Oh, BTW, I also bought stock in alcohol and tobacco companies, petroleum and strip club shares and started a cannabis farm behind your back. Because people are going to do bad stuff far more than do the good and righteous things. I made a little money off the hope you gave and more money on people trying to get through until they could actually leave their houses to go to Home Depot or church without getting harassed and arrested.

But, now? You break my heart every day when I look at you through my Windows. Where is the real you? What about us? I thought we understood each other. But I guess I was wrong.

No woman looks like the ones you are showing me. That is impossible. You know, I am just as impressionable at the age I am now as when I was thirteen. And now you are just making me feel bad about myself. Because that is what you do. It is almost like you are programmed to do that. Weird.

Everywhere I look on you, I see WOACA with thick braids and boho tops, looking sexy and smooth. Then I also see the fat ones you show me, trying to slather off their cellulite between two pieces of wood nailed together with carpet tacks point down to exfoliate the “old” off their bodies. The gorgeous ones ARE NOT REAL. The REAL ONES are me.

It was bad enough when you and I were in this relationship together and we were headed gracefully into our golden years. But now you have turned into the T-1000 on me. I can never forgive what you are doing. I can never forgive what you are doing to my self esteem. To every woman’s self esteem. You are making the impossible look like the possible and it is effing with the order of things. The order of our lives. The way we look at ourselves. So, just stop.

I actually FELL for one of your ‘Sponsored Ads” and bought this cool looking embroidered top. Yes, I was THAT stupid to believe in you. It was a fifty dollar lesson learned the hard and super ugly way. Instead of a sexy, comfy green flowy top to match my eyes, I got something in the mail that I am pretty sure was made from debris that had been floating in “the great garbage patch. The material was 100% lab made and it felt gross when it touched my skin. I threw it in the garbage, where it came from in the first place. Hope you are happy now!

I will end this letter to you by saying that today I almost fell for you all over again. I actually felt terrible about myself and my clothes. Because you made it impossible to love myself with your artificial standards of what you see as beautiful. I even had a super cute (FAKE!) top in my cart from one of your sponsors.

But then, like a bolt out of nowhere, the strength came back into my ‘exit this page’ finger. I saw the impossibility of what you wanted me to believe and I saw that the power was in my literal reach and I chose to click EXIT instead of CHECK OUT.

After that, I went up into my closet and pulled out my old boho tops that I had recently found in my wardrobe. I sat with them and went through them like old love letters. They were wrinkled, so I ironed them. Now they are hanging up and ready for me to wear, ready to caress my body like a long lost natural cotton/linen blend lover.

My face is still the same, it just has rose oil mixed with Marula oil on it. You tried to sell me quick fixes to turn my normal face into a big lipped joker with eyebrows like a Michigan caterpillar. I don’t believe you anymore.

I have learned to work with what The Good Lord has given me. I am taking care of this temple from the inside out. Did you know that when I eat NO PROCESSED FOOD, I do not get tartar on my teeth? Did you know that when I quit using man-made pit juice, I stopped staining all my clothes and started detoxing? Now, instead of your shyster products, I use a little essential oil under my arms.

BO happens for a reason, so don’t try to sell me something to clog my lymphs. Ever.

I might pull you up but it doesn’t mean that I will buy you a drink. You blew it with me. But, it doesn’t mean I won’t stalk you. I am willing to take a peep at the little good parts when it comes to you, Pinterest. But we are nothing more than passing acquaintances now.

I am not falling for your lies that I am not good enough.

I love me.

Just as I am.

See ya,

Sadie