No more secrets you guys.

You know how they say if you’re not part of the solution, then you are part of the problem?

Well, I’m part of the problem. So, no more secrets.

What’s your problem this month, Ann? (that’s my negative self-talk chiming in. She’s not very nice sometimes.)
I was on Instagram @anngarvin_ looking at everyone’s photos and feeling bad about my living room, my backyard furniture, my lame ass kitchen table and the lighting in my bathroom.

Then I examined the faces of all my peers and decided that I needed to start a skin regime like YESTERDAY and would have googled Botox injections when I happened upon a garden photo that made my Hibiscus plant feel really bad about herself. I made the mistake of showing her the organic food abundance, and we had to do some affirmations about lone blooms and the value of wallflowers. We talked about getting a rototiller and building a sustainable co-op, but then I saw my friend’s photos of Italy and thought maybe I should sell my house with its shitty kitchen table and move.

The post that put me over the edge was a woman who showed me that I could repurpose my hair clips and secure the shoots of organic tomato seedlings (see above) and urged me to try and get all my recycling for the year, into a small container the size of the tampon box, the likes of which I don’t even have anymore. Why? Because of menopause.

Don’t feel sorry for me. You know you’re the same when you look at my glamorous life of a single mom living on one salary while holding down three jobs.

So, I’m guilty too. I won’t post a photo if I look a day over fifty-five. And, I’ve taken off my pajamas when I’ve had to do a book club meeting. Last week I showered before a speaking engagement. So, Yeah, I groom, snap and delete like the best of ’em. These are the secrets I’m talking about. Secrets that hide the real me from you so that I look more together than I am.

Today though, I’m going to do a photo that represents the real me. And, when I say the real me I mean, a photo of what’s in my purse.

That’s where you really learn about a girl.

It’s time to show you that I’m not the glamour girl you think I am. (hahahaha)
So, here it is. Inside my purse. No secrets.

secrets

Yes, I carry a big purse.
I numbered a few things, so let’s take a tour.
1) The pill bottle. I take an anti-depressant. I know that I seem like the most cheerful person ever and I am. Partially, because I take an antidepressant and partly because I am cheerful. But, at some point, I became both cheerful and increasingly anxious. This runs in my family. Sometimes people need help. People need to talk about the help they get so that others don’t feel bad if they need a little medicine. I sometimes keep this a secret. Not anymore.
2) Coffee. My doctor would say less coffee = less anxiety and I would say, I don’t drink too much coffee. I don’t snort it.  I drink just enough and I don’t want to be without it. Because I like it. So it’s in my purse.
3) This is the trimmer for any facial hair that dares make itself known to me. You can thank my high school friends who nicknamed me Whiskers when I went through puberty. If you’re the kind of person that thinks, Ann, you’ve got to let that go….well, then that’s all very nice for you to be so evolved about your facial hair. Go flaunt your hairy self and leave my trimmer to me then.
4) This is progesterone that goes with the estrogen patch on my ass. It occurs to me that I should call this post: Better Living Through Chemistry, but you know, in the end, it’s all chemistry: who you’re attracted to, how your body handles your food, the patch you stick on your ass. I’m here to say, embrace your chemistry. It helps a little. Menopause isn’t sexy but aging could be if we told the truth about it.
5) I carry around a lot of lipsticks, hair clips and other things like earplugs, glasses, and food. If I get stranded, this is my go-bag. I’m prepared. If you travel with me I will keep your lips pink, your phone charged and your mood elevated (just kidding).
6) Lastly, I use a paper calendar, I don’t like sticky hands and I don’t use my Fitbit. Call me old. Call me unmotivated. Or just call me human.

It’s just this. We are all humans with our individual needs. I wanted to show you that I’m not afraid that you know certain things about me because, I hope it makes you feel better about certain things about you. #NoMoreSecrets

xoA

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