It's hard for me to admit this.
I'm going to take off all my clothes and stand in the white light of the sun for a minute: Once, I unfollowed someone on Facebook. Someone I actually know in real life and really like, and am friends with.
No, it wasn't because of politics. No, she wasn't harassing me. No, she wasn't posting #DonaldTrumpFanGirl either.
I unfollowed because I was jealous of the view from her wall. Her stories and pictures were a window into a life I once tried to create.
A sweet life in cool mornings, dust motes in mellow light. Lots of babies, and a banjo. Old books, and a herb garden.
And no, her posts aren't #Fakebook. I can't roll my eyes and say, "Oh yeah right, there's no way in HELL you live in a meadow with singing deer and butterflies that hang your laundry to dry." Because honestly? I think she does.
And she earned it. Because she's kind and wise. And funny, too. So, I unfollowed her.
(Reason for unfollowing, Facebook asks: Because I couldn't look anymore without feeling my stomach clutch.)
And then recently, I heard from someone on another continent across a vast and distant sea that sometimes she gets jealous of my stories and my photos, and "I'm really, really sorry but I unfollowed you for a while."
And I thought of the friend I couldn't face, so I went back to her page and caught up.
Her "baby" lost his first tooth. Her garden's growing. Her grandfather passed away. She "likes" Eminem and Pete Seeger. And again, her belly's big with new life forming.
I'm following her again. Because she's my friend, and sometimes we must wash the warrior paint off our faces and bravely face ourselves, too.
And I like my life — no, I love it — and I can like hers, too. Like, really like it. And not just "like" it.
This article was originally published at Facebook. Reprinted with permission from the author.