I make silly mistakes. Sometimes big, sometimes not, but generally there is an audience. I’m tired of feeling that “warm wash of shame” over stupid things that simply do not matter.
There have been nights I have sat straight up in bed regretting the most ridiculous things, because I worry that I’ll be called out for being not good enough? I may not know exactly what I worry about, but I do know that it is ridiculously tiring worrying about all those little things.
And? If we’re close enough friends that you have been in my home, that we have shared the same table, that we have laughed until we’ve cried. I think I want you to yank me aside and say, “Heather, it does not matter, knock it off.”
Yes, I committed the unpardonable sin of sharing a pic with my finger in it. Someone please take my keys, I’m obviously not going to manage at this adult thing.
Or maybe? Just maybe, I’m just human and I make silly mistakes and we will both get over them. Because? Today I got out and took a bike ride for the first time in I don’t know how long and it was beautiful and I felt good. Now there’s a little bit of me left in that picture.