Back in 2010 when I was breastfeeding for what felt like 17 hours out of every day, having Pinterest on my phone saved my life. It let me create these tiny worlds, faux realities where I gardened, crafted, remembered how to use Photoshop and knew what to do with asparagus and truffle salt. I pinned my days away.
And then it got to be too much. The acid in my stomach looking at heroic seas crashing onto beaches I would never sink into. The resentment that bubbled up soaking in Kinfolk-ish linens layered on tables with mismatched cutlery and sprayed dandelion seeds. The ache that drummed through my head realizing I would never do any of the toddler crafts with salt dough or squelching sensory sand.
I devastated myself by pretending the life I created via my Boards was right and if notthat, then I was wrong.
