Last week, Ez challenged her Twitter community to talk honestly about “the things we are afraid to tell you” on our blogs and the role fear plays in our lives. It was inspired by this terrific post by Jess Constable. Ez and Jess speak honestly and courageously on their own blogs. And it seems that increasingly bloggers are talking openly about their fear of being judged in a swelling sea of perfectly styles parties, outfits and children. With the rise of Pinterest and Instagram the pressure is on to share the most beautiful aspects of our not-always-beautiful lives. I get that, really I do.

I love blogging seemingly effortless images from my daily life and I eat that eye candy up on other blogs. I like to look at pretty things. End of story. But I know it doesn’t represent the full story. It’s not reality, at least not every day and not in my world.

So here’s my attempt to keep it real and share some ugly truth. It’s part of a much larger conversation so I’d love it if you would check out what my peers are saying about their fears today. And a special thanks to Ez at Creature Comforts for the inspiration and motivation to come clean.

I love the taste of Orange Hostess Cupcakes. It’s not a flavor one could replicate in nature and yet, I happily eat them in the shame-filled privacy of my car at least twice a year.

I grew up without a dishwasher, washing machine and dryer. I joyfully use these appliances every chance I get without any white girl guilt.

I love being alone. Now I feel obligated to tell you that I do adore my family, my friends and my job, but there is nothing more restorative than solitude.

If you use a double negative in conversation (without a hint of irony) I will silently judge you, forever.

It took me seven years to earn a Bachelor’s degree. I used to be embarrassed by this but now I’m proud. I paid for it myself, worked full-time and went through some serious “stuff” along the way.

As a seven year-old I remember feeling terribly ashamed that my parents were never married. I used to lie about it. They were hippies and living on a commune in France. Hello, that story is cool and totally blog/book-worthy. I get it now.

I never wanted to be a mother. Until I met my two step children. Now I get that too. By the way, step-anything is a shitty way to describe a human relationship.

Not being able to speak French with my family is a constant source of disappointment in my life.

When Emerson was an infant I was afraid to take her in the backyard. I was sure the large black crows that circle our neighborhood would have the strength and determination to carry her away. It’s a visual that still haunts me.

I suffered silently with postpartum depression for nine months until talking honestly with my doctor. Everything changed for the better that day and just like a flip of the switch, the lights came back on in my life. (Full disclosure: Meds and therapy triggered the longterm change, but that conversation was the ray of hope I desperately needed.)

Is there anything you are afraid to share? I truly believe in the power of light. The more light you shine on the scary monsters in your closet the less power they have over you in the middle of the night. Give it a try and share one thing today. Maybe it will help if you visualize me hiding from neighborhood birds or obsessively eating processed food products in my car. Just a thought.