Bigfoot doesn’t tiptoe across floors—he stomps, leaving muddy footprints.
Authenticity isn’t polite, it’s unforgettable.
Cringe ain’t weakness—it’s proof you showed up.
Every messy, awkward moment was you daring to exist fully, even when it risked embarrassment. That fearless self deserves gratitude, not shame.
Ask yourself:
What parts of me did I silence for being “too much”?
What happens if today I burn those lies to the ground?
THE FLAVOR OF YOUR REALNESS
If authenticity was a taste, would you be sharp, spicy, unforgettable or watered down nothing?
Quit diluting your flavor for those who never cared about your real ingredients.
When’s the last time you let someone experience your unfiltered emotional landscape?
The ugly laughter, storm cloud grief, unhinged joy real connection comes from raw moments, not curated scenes.
It’s shedding dead weight to grow again.
But ask yourself: Do I give joy the same room I give pain?
If you’re willing to hold grief but deny yourself joy, that isn’t depth it’s self denial.
You’re allowed to sit in emotional wreckage, snack in hand, declaring your worth even when pieces don’t yet fit.
That messy, snack filled version is the real you the holy, unedited self worth bringing home.
If your emotional life looks more meatloaf on a paper plate than Pinterest charcuterie GOOD. Meatloaf doesn’t apologize for looking messy. It nourishes, it holds together, and it shows up exactly as it is.
Raw, nourishing, unforgettable.
Big Mulch Command accepts no half-truths—only full-fire authenticity.
So stomp through the comments like Bigfoot in a bubble bath and let your raw self be seen. We don’t judge we high-five your mess and offer snacks.
What’s one thing you used to hide that you’re ready to bring back? When was the last time you let yourself laugh ugly or cry loud? If your flavor was uncensored, what would it taste like today? What are you reclaiming that the world told you to mute? What messy, honest moment are you proud of lately?
Don't be afraid to comment—I'll go first:
One thing I used to hide and now refuse to stuff back in the drawer is my humor. I'm loud, obnoxious, and hilarious. I was a walkin' roast session, flaming anything in my path with love and sarcasm. Then people said I was "too much," "too loud," and my favorite "obnoxious." Well guess what? I'm 43 now and I've got enough mileage to say this with my whole chest: hiding yourself solves jack shit. All it does is build a prison outta other people's comfort zones.
So yeah, I'm reclaiming my inner stand up goblin. If people can't handle it, they can respectfully unfriend themselves. I’m not mild salsa I’m full blown habanero with a side of chaos and a kick that stays with you. Bring the chips and buckle up.
Also, today the toilet overflowed, FML! Full. Biblical. Flood. Water everywhere. Floor soaked. Me standing in a towel, wet socks, plunger in hand, questioning my existence.
Was I pissed off? Maybe. Was I laughing like a lunatic because it was too absurd to be real? Absolutely. The toilet knew I was fragile and said, "You want a challenge? I got you let sing you the song of my people!"
For a hot second, I considered lighting a match and moving to the woods. But Bigfoot talked me down. He mopped. I cursed. I made a snack I didn’t deserve. And then I sat on a dry surface, victorious.
I didn’t fall apart. The toilet did. I’m still standing.
Sure, my pride’s a little soggy, but dammit, I’m proud. Because resilience isn’t a pretty quote it’s mopping your shame puddle in wet socks and deciding to keep going anyway.
So here’s to us: the emotionally waterlogged warriors. Fixing our own messes, eating fridge cheese in silence, and refusing to let life flush us down.
We rise. Slightly damp, but undefeated.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Drop your thoughts here—whether its gardening wisdom, mulch-related rants, or existential crises. We welcome all flavors of chaos! Speak now or forever compost your thoughts into the void.