How exhausting to dredge up past stories, past struggles. I needed to express them, and more significantly, I needed to express them publicly. It feels strange, though, airing out the ugly pockets and flinging the dust and decayed bits into the ether for all to see. In my reading of late, I'm learning that it doesn't behoove me to define myself by the stories of my past or my rose-tinted plans for a better, prettier future me. Writing these things -- these creeping, shameful things -- has wrested from them their power over me. I am exhausted and trembling, but I feel an abiding sense of peace.
I have some idea of who reads this blog, but there are some readers whom I've never met (hello to you, dear people). Sometimes I pause before publishing a post, considering my audience like a good little Composition instructor. What will people think of me? That question has the power to stop me in my tracks. But I press "Publish" anyway. It strikes me that writing openly and without censure is the only sane way to rid myself of the debilitating fear of exposure and criticism.
To those of you reading: I appreciate that you're still here.
Not sure if you should be more proud of staying at the restaurant or baring your soul in these blogs. Lotsa of courage Lys.
ReplyDeleteI will always be there for you my darling girl. Nothing that you expose of yourself is anything I would not want to hear and share with you. I'm always here to unburden yourself too. Don't ever hesitate! I celebrate your wonderful self!!!!!
ReplyDeleteLots and lots of love,
Bonnie
Isn't it an amazing feeling? Like discovering who your true sisters are, your true family. The surprise of it all is that you're giving us a true gift, too - your true, honest, thoughtful self. So keep it coming, my sister. :)
ReplyDeleteWe will always be here, whether you post things or not, and whether we comment or not. Remember us when you are feeling alone.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Karen; I love you and miss you.
ReplyDelete