I'm sure you have heard it said a thousand and twelve times: "Don't believe everything you see posted on social media."

"Those are the highlights, not the real story."

Maybe you even heed those warnings and just give that all is right in the world post a passing glance. But if you're anything like me, I bet you think to yourself that some people have it all figured out, and life must be positively perfect with a big, red cherry on top. And maybe, just maybe, it is. But before you start re-evaluating your own life, let me just tell you a true story about my own life experience. Hold your double tap until the end.

So it was a beautiful, absolutely gorgeous Tennessee Sunday. Come on now; what's better than that? Not much, I know right. I mean I'm talking sun-out, sixty-eight, buttercups blooming everywhere kinda day-- A Volunteer State postcard if you will.

Any day this perfect must be captured, pure logic. So that, my friends, is exactly what I set out to do: capture the sheer beauty of the day.

Being the millennial that I am, I tell my sister, "Hey, make sure you look cute, and we'll stop and take a super cute 'spring is here' picture in the buttercups!" Operation Insta was a go. Like planned post-go.

Merely a few minutes later we were rounding the bend of the most beautiful field of buttercup gold that the social world could ever care to see. After a few moments of deliberation, we reached the executive decision that it would be best to pull off into the field as opposed to having to deal with the daunting task of walking across the road.

So we hopped out of the car; sat in the buttercups; snapped some selfies, and tried to avoid eye contact with all the judgmental cars passing by. Turns out, their looks of judgment were better than my own judgment in general. The selfie session took all of 30 seconds, and I was feeling pretty dang confident about how well they turned out and our efficiency...

That was until it came time to maneuver out of the buttercup field. Suddenly, there was a ditch that I'd failed to notice when I was scooting my little car into the field, and now I was starting to doubt whether I could even get out of the field period.

Encouragement came from my passenger seat, and with everything within my right foot, I accelerated my little Hyundai. Ya see, here's the thing about cars: they aren't really made for off-roading, even really pretty yellow off- roading. Despite my efforts, my car hit the ditch and came to an abrupt halt. Some rattling sounds exhaled from up near the front, and I crossed my fingers, prayed real hard, and put that bad boy in reverse. A slightly more level spot was just a few feet away, and finally, I succeeded in making it back on the Tennessee road.

Just a little scare, but everything was all good, and Instagram would see all its glory, or so I thought.. Until my sister got out of the car, tapped on the window, and said, "Hey um, the front of your car is hanging off."

Sure enough, I got out only to find that my bump in the buttercups had succeeded in knocking off the entire right corner of my front bumper and had also just so happened to bust some key components inside as well. Talk about a gut-wrenching feeling, all for a stupid picture. I felt like an absolute idiot.

But of course after that traumatic experience, there was no way that I was not posting the picture, and so I did. Clever caption and all, like everything, was just buttercups and daisies. And my followers came through and liked it, without question.

All they could see was what I allowed them to see–the post. They couldn't see the front of the car or the paleness of my face or even the way that I beat myself up. They saw two sisters smiling amidst the buttercups, the highlight in a series of low points.

So the moral of the story is there is always a story behind the story. You didn't see the fight that perfect couple had right before that Kodak moment nor the two hours of sleep that new mom got before that all too precious baby you see woke her up. You see the parts that people allow you to see, and they never forget to put the cherry on top.