The Stigma of Society Infuriates Me

It is time for me to write something. And since, for Instagram, that means having a photograph, I thought, “I’ll take a little selfie while I’m at it.” So I picked up my phone and thought “smile for the people, Seana.”


I’m a little weary these days thanks to a sick toddler and a mad preschooler tugging me in different directions. But that ain’t no thing compared the bone deep, soul mystifying, sorrowful fatigue of a society that I just cannot comprehend.

I am angry. It burns deep within me. I am angry that I am headed into therapy in an hour or so to hear that this burning anger with most everyone and everything these days means that I’m probably off balance instead of hearing “you’re so right, the world is so fucked up.” (Edit: My therapist actually ended up saying “you’re right, the world is so totally fucked up!)

I am angry that people talk about my bravery in writing this blog because it means that there are people who are afraid to share their reality; it means there are people who are still silenced. I am angry that this fucked up world is still telling people that there is a normal and we all must try to be it. I am hurting for those people who suffer silently with secrets they think they cannot speak. I am angry with a system that would have this cycle perpetuate.

I am furious with people who should know better, who should do better, and choose not to.

I am angry at bloggers and writers and celebrities who present a version of life that is a lie. If you are going to tell a bit of your story you should tell all of your story; anything else is a distortion and builds an illusion that in reality is unattainable and serving to further this society built on *comparison compulsion*. Just like I can never be the Victoria Secret model because she is a photoshopped version of her own self (I mean otherwise, totally nailed it), neither can I be the best selling guru who edits her own life to perfection – she is an edited version of her own self. I’m over it.

The list goes on until the anger gives way to exhaustion and the exhaustion lets go and gives in because what does it matter and who will it change. People don’t want to be different and I can’t be the one to fix that. And then I am sad.

Because I long for a courageous world where people are who they say are and the guesswork is a thing of the past. Where moms don’t rally against other mothers and no one is spending their time judging each other instead of saying “oh my gosh, me too!” I wish enough of us were outspoken about our mistakes and thoughts and feelings (because that’s all I talk about here, in my ‘big, brave world’) that it was no longer brave but normal and that, instead, judging was seen as the thing that was strange.

I’m angry because I think we can do better. If we weren’t all so scared.

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