On the ninth day of Dismissmas,
my true love sent to me
Nine ladies grinning,
Eight maids no longer nursing,
Seven sins a-lurking,
Six women a-denying,
Five hours of sleep,
Four Just Snap out of Its,
Three perfect babies,
Two depressed parents,
And a wailing mess in a pear tree.
Her skin is flawless, make-up covering any flaws, her clothes are ironed and pressed, her over-coat perfectly matches her shoes, her nails do too. Every strand of her hair is in it’s place and as you stare at her, you imagine everything in her home is in the right place as well. The stroller she pushes glows as if Angels themselves were guiding it along. She does not walk. She floats. In and out of your day dreams as you struggle to keep your own infant quietly in the stroller, your hair from slipping out of the 435th ponytail holder you’ve gone through this month because your two year old keeps flushing them down the toilet, and your yoga pants no longer pass as dress pants because they have been perma-stained with strained peaches. And make-up? HAH. Smeared Strawberry and black crayon streaks is more your speed these days.
What you DON’T see is that she swung by the pharmacy before she left the store. To pick up her anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medication. It’s tucked away deep in her designer diaper bag. In the zipper pouch so it won’t accidentally fall out. That perfected look? Possibly a result of aforementioned depression, anxiety, or even OCD. She’s a broken soul tucked away deep in the zippered pocket of a designer bag. On the outside it looks perfect but on the inside – Oh, on the inside – the seams are pulling out, the fabric has worn thin, and it’s on the verge of collapsing.
My point?
Looks are deceiving.
Just because a woman is smiling on the outside does not mean she is smiling on the inside. Don’t ever assume that a pulled-together woman is happy. She may feel EXACTLY LIKE YOU.
