*Warning: salty language ahead.
I am tired of watching the masks behind those Instagram photos that try to sell me “the recipe for a happy life” or “the four steps to total inner transformation.”
I am tired of watching the lipsticked lips and made-up faces of those who launch their videos, telling me to follow them (and their seven rules in life) in order to experience total peace and bliss.
I am tired of these meditation techniques that so many “healers” and “spiritual teachers” try to sell through my Instagram or Facebook feeds.
Could you please just stop?
Can you show me what is real in your daily life experience?
How you get pissed off just waiting in line. Or how you become impatient with your children. Or how you fantasize about sex in ways you never have before.
Stop giving me your recipe for a happy life.
Stop giving me the five steps to total bliss.
Stop giving me the three rules to find myself or the 10 Commandments to align with God or to become God.
Just leave me the fuck alone.
Let me process my sick body and feel the layers of my own skin as it aches from not feeling well.
Allow me to digest my thoughts and feelings and how they shape my own reality—without telling me that my reality is horrible as it is, and that I need to shift my thinking through a specific meditation technique that will change my life forever.
Let me fall and ride like the waves of the ocean, and allow me to touch my feet or my dry lips or my tired head as it falls on the pillow at night.
I am not unhappy or depressed or broken.
I just am. As I am.
Heartbroken at other times.
Head heavy with tear-soaked pillows on some nights.
Resting as an old lady for hours or dancing like a wild creature in the jungle.
Allow me to feel my humanness in complete surrender to whatever I am or I’m not being.
I am not unhappy or depressed; I just have a hard time swallowing my own shadows and the room temperature and the energy of others.
I like to sit with my butt on the floor and be silly for a while.
I like to stop and smell the flowers and be curious like a child for a while.
I like to wear a black bikini and dance on the pole to give a voice to my inner dark goddess.
I need to breathe for hours alone to get grounded again.
So please don’t sell me your recipes for happiness. My happiness is not yours and vice versa.
Your bliss is not what gives me bliss.
Your meditation technique can be numbing to me.
Your advice can cause a wrong turn in my life’s path.
Could you just be real, and allow us to see all those moments you don’t usually put in front of the camera—like when you only speak about bliss or how to make $10,000 a month.
Don’t put me into a competitive mode with you or anyone else.
Could you just allow me to see how you coped with being broke? Or when you didn’t have enough money to buy a coffee or when you lost your credit card?
Or when you car was broken and you had to walk for hours?
Can you show me how you deal with jealousy? Your flaws? How you integrate your inner goddess or God with the reality that surrounds you?
There are so many people out there on social media, specially on Instagram, who try to sell so many ideas and concepts of how they made it to become millionaires or experience pure bliss forever since they started x or y meditation technique.
Just stop the bullshit.
Show me the not so good moments from your daily life.
How you cope with being left alone or abandoned.
What do you do when life does not turn out how you planned it?
Show me what you don’t show online.
The stretching marks on your skin.
The bare face without makeup.
The tear-filled eyes due to a heartbreak.
The messy hair.
Your stories of failure.
Show me your scars.
What still haunts you within, in the dark hours when you’re alone.
What disturbs you.
Tell me the unspoken words of your throat.
Stop selling advice and tips and a number or rules to a perfect life and show me the real you behind your Instagram face.
There is one fact we all know: life can never be a straight line of only bliss or forever peace. Life changes and shifts all the time. Life fucking hurts sometimes. We fucking fuck up sometimes. We don’t want to socialize at other times or may even go without sex for years.
We go through phases and we experience impatience or emotions or anger and jealousy on a daily basis. We all do. It’s part of being human. And it is okay as long as we don’t create a life out of our daily triggers.
So please let me and others be the humans that we are.