Pretty Has a Backstory.

The beautiful moments are real. They're just not the whole story.

The Week Looked Beautiful. Here’s What You Didn’t See.

If you followed me on social media last week, you probably saw a beautiful week.

You saw Porto. Lisbon. Hotels. Outfits. Friends. Podcasts. Television appearances. Behind-the-scenes moments. Me talking about She Kept Going, doing something I genuinely love and watching opportunities I once hoped for become part of my real life.

And all of that was true.

I was happy.

I was grateful.

I was proud of myself.

But there was another version of that same week that didn’t make it into every photograph.

My daughter had broken her finger.

And I had to leave her at home.

As a mother, that does something to you.

She’s old enough to be home, and she wasn’t alone. I made sure she was taken care of. But knowing all of that logically didn’t stop the part of me that wondered whether I should be there.

That’s motherhood, isn’t it?

Your children get older, but somehow you never completely stop asking yourself: Do they need me right now? Am I doing the right thing? Should I be there?

At the same time, I had commitments waiting for me.

So I went.

I got dressed. I did my hair and makeup. I showed up. I smiled. I walked onto television sets. I talked about my book. I recorded podcasts. I saw friends. I laughed. I had beautiful moments.

And they weren’t fake.

That’s the part I think we sometimes misunderstand about social media.

When someone posts a beautiful moment, we assume we’re either seeing the whole truth or a manufactured version of it.

Sometimes it’s neither.

Sometimes the beautiful moment is completely real.

It’s just not the entire story.

There were moments last week when I returned to my hotel room after everything was over and wished I had my person to call.

Not a friend.

Not one of my children.

Not someone from work.

A partner.

Someone who would ask, How did it go?

Someone I could tell the parts of the day that don’t belong on Instagram.

Someone to celebrate the good news with, complain to when I’m exhausted, laugh with about something ridiculous that happened, or simply hear say, I’m here.

And that was an interesting feeling to sit with.

Because I’m 50 years old, and I’ve built a life I’m proud of.

I’m independent. I travel. I’m pursuing dreams I postponed for years. My children are growing up. I’ve published my book. I’m walking into rooms I once imagined myself entering.

My life is full.

A full life can still have quiet spaces.

And sometimes I’m lonely.

I’ve realized those two sentences can exist next to each other.

For a long time, I think women have been taught that if we’re strong and independent, admitting that we want companionship somehow diminishes that strength.

I don’t believe that anymore.

Wanting someone beside me doesn’t mean I don’t know how to stand alone.

I’ve already proven that I can.

Maybe that’s precisely why I can finally admit that I don’t always want to.

What you Don't See.

One of the strangest things about this chapter of my life is that from the outside, everything can look as though it’s coming together at exactly the same time.

And in many ways, it is.

But rebuilding a life isn’t a movie montage where everything difficult disappears once the woman finds herself.

There are consequences to choosing your dreams.

There are people you miss.

There are decisions you second-guess.

There are hotel rooms that feel quiet after very loud days.

There are children who still need their mother while their mother is discovering who she is outside of motherhood.

There are moments when you can be incredibly proud of yourself and still wish someone were sitting next to you.

And there are days when you realize that keeping going doesn’t mean you’ve arrived somewhere where nothing hurts anymore.

It simply means you kept living.

You kept choosing.

You kept becoming.

So Why Am I Telling You This?

Because I want this space to be different.

I love beautiful things. I love fashion. I love creating a beautiful home. I love traveling, dressing up, having dinner with friends and walking into a television studio feeling like the woman I worked very hard to become.

I’m not going to pretend those things don’t matter to me just to prove that I’m authentic.

The pretty is real.

But from now on, I also want to tell you about the backstory.

The doubt.

The decisions.

The motherhood.

The loneliness.

The joy.

The reinvention.

The things I’m still figuring out at 50.

Because perhaps you’re figuring some of them out too.

And maybe we don’t need another woman telling us she has finally figured out the secret to a perfect life.

Maybe we need more women willing to say:

My life is beautiful.

My life is complicated.

I’m grateful.

I still want more.

I’m strong.

And sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be.

All of those things can be true at once.

This part is pretty.

But there’s always a backstory.

— Arlinda