I remember telling a friend, “Don’t post about your hardships online. People don’t want the real stuff—just post the good moments only.” But what does that end up leaving us with?

I’m constantly caught in this game of pretend. During presentations at my new job, my inner monologue is basically “just pretend you know what you’re talking about” while I smile and nod confidently. Meanwhile, my stomach is doing knots as I wonder if anyone can tell I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

My online feed has photos of me “living the dream life” . There’s that picture of my “perfect” apartment (carefully angled to hide the stack of moving boxes I still haven’t unpacked three months later). And don’t forget those weekend brunch photos that make it look like I have an amazing social life (conveniently cropped to hide the fact that I spent twenty minutes arranging everything just for the picture before eating alone).

During meetings, I’ve mastered the art of the thoughtful nod while Googling acronyms I don’t understand under the table. When my boss asks for my input, I’ve perfected stalling with phrases like “I think we should circle back to what Jessica said…” while my brain screams “PLEASE DON’T ASK ME A FOLLOW-UP QUESTION.”

At networking events, I have perfected the art of sounding like I have a five-year plan. I’ve rehearsed my elevator pitch so many times that I can deliver it while mentally calculating if I have enough money to order takeout or if it’s another ramen night. Meanwhile, when friends call with their problems, I’m somehow always the ones giving solutions like I’ve got everything together—the blind leading the blind in a masterclass of “do as I say, not as I do.”

The Filtered Reality

But here’s what my online feed doesn’t show:

The 2 AM scroll through job listings,
wondering if my degree is just paper and dreams.
The half-eaten dinner of cereal because payday
is three days too far, and groceries feel like a luxury.

You won’t see the cold glow of my laptop screen
as I Google “how to write a professional email”
for the hundredth time,
or the way I practice saying “networking”
like it’s a spell that might save me.

Instagram misses the existential standoff
with my electric bill—
is it high, or is adulthood just expensive?
And the quiet dread of a coworker’s offhand remark,
a term I don’t know but pretend to,
as Google becomes my lifeline under the desk.

Maybe that’s the real glow-up we should be posting about—not the perfect morning routine or the aesthetic desk setup, but the messy, chaotic reality of figuring it all out.

The victories nobody photographs: finally remembering to schedule a dentist appointment (adulting 101), successfully making rice without burning it (a universal struggle), or going a whole week without having to check your account balance before buying coffee (achievement unlocked at any age).

Because let’s be honest: none of us—have it all figured out. We’re all just out here trying to adult.

P.S. As I write this, I’m definitely sitting cross-legged on my unmade bed , surrounded by snack wrappers, wearing yesterday’s t-shirt, and somehow still managing to make my online story look like I’m living in a Pinterest board. And you know what? That’s perfectly okay