Like many people, I have a love-hate relationship with social media. Well, Facebook — I loathe Twitter. But that’s another post. Facebook has allowed me to get to know friends of friends I would otherwise never have met. It’s put me back in touch with old friends and helped heal festering wounds. It’s let me talk to cousins and colleagues in more depth than rushed conversations at family reunions or the office allow. It’s enabled me to easily stay in touch with people in other states and even countries — and I’m not a faithful letter writer or phone-caller, so I likely would have lost touch with these people without Facebook.

That’s the good side. The bad side: Facebook makes it too easy, sometimes, to compare my life to other people’s, and that can lead to a brooding discontent, especially during this time of year (All Saints’ Day to Mardi Gras, and even more so during Christmas break). I’m hardly the only person to have experienced this. Particularly when you’re going through a difficult time personally and/or professionally, seeing everyone else’s successes on social media can be devastating.

I’m at a better place in life than I’ve been for awhile, but it isn’t perfect. I have a lovely, spacious apartment with a patio. I have a job I mostly enjoy and find fulfilling. I have strong friendships. I took a couple of fun and memorable trips in 2016, and I like to think I’ve gotten really good at finding quirky, little-known local places to visit, too. And there’s Rufus and my kitties.

But things could be better. I still live paycheck to paycheck. I haven’t commercially published a book yet, and I struggle to find time to write. I haven’t met the love of my life, and with every year that passes, it seems less likely that I will. Kids? Forget it. I don’t own my home, and I certainly don’t live in an elegant mansion with a sweeping, woods-bordered lawn on which deer graze, like some of my Facebook friends apparently do. I don’t have an adoring spouse who plays songs on the guitar and buys me roses. I don’t get to take trips to Japan and Australia.

And if you’re one of the people who does, I am not trying to make you feel guilty or question whether you should post about these things, because of course you shouldn’t (feel guilty and question, that is; you should keep posting). I want to be happy for you. Most of the time, I am, especially if you’re a person who’s honest about the struggles as well as the triumphs. Sometimes it’s just difficult not to compare, not to look at friends who have what I most want in life, and to wonder why these things have worked out for them and not (yet) for me. (Note: That last sentence is an existential question, not a request for advice and especially not for the rundown of everything you think I’ve done wrong and need to do differently in order to be as successful or happy or fulfilled as you are. Regardless of your intentions, those sorts of comments never help and usually cause harm.)

But there is another subset of people, a subset who can’t or won’t admit of any imperfection in their lives. You know these people, too. They are brilliant and accomplished and beautiful, as they constantly remind you. They are “so blessed” to have incredible genes and successful careers that let them make good money pursuing their passions. They have adoring spouses and incredible sex (that they feel the need to advertise to everyone) and lovely, impeccably behaved yet intellectually curious children who constantly tell them what amazing parents they are. Their home decor looks like it belongs on Pinterest, and they are gourmet cooks who dress like every day is a photo shoot. Their vacations are extravaganzas of beaming selfies and “bucket list” items. They are relentless self-promoters, both professionally and personally, and it seems that their social media accounts are less about staying in touch with friends than providing them with incessant affirmation.

For my own sanity, I “unfollow” these people.

And yes, being honest and vulnerable on social media is risky. As I’ve found repeatedly, you lose “friends” and followers. You get unsolicited, sometimes wildly insensitive advice, and people who don’t know details of your situation make things worse by casting blame or making erroneous assumptions. You compromise your “brand.” But you also gain support, sometimes from unexpected places. And perhaps most importantly, you let other people in on your behind-the-scenes. You let them know that things aren’t perfect for you, and so around you they don’t have to pretend their lives are perfect, either.

So, for those of you who don’t limit your social media to highlight reels, I want to say thank you. Thank you for your willingness to be vulnerable, to share your hurt and confusion and perplexity. Thank you for trusting your friends with your reality — and for letting us see enough of who you truly are that we can be friends, not just social media acquaintances. Thank you for opening yourself to criticism and cruelty, but also to affirmation and sharing and love. Thank you for letting me know I’m not alone in this messy, flawed, chaotic, anguished, joyful, crazy, not-always-media-friendly, lowlight-reel-filled life.