Writing really is therapeutic for me. I should do it more often. Because there’s no question about it, I could use some therapy. [I am in ‘compose mode’ all day long, and that’s almost as good as therapy!] I talk to myself and have long strings of conversations that I would write if I were writing. The problem is . . I’m afraid someone might read this. The other day I got a very sweet and supportive handwritten note from one of my sisters and she said she caught up on my blog, and I immediately panicked. I wondered what I had written here that might offend, or say too much, or too little. I pillaged through my memory and even went to the computer and looked for myself if there was anything that would expose myself. Expose my very personal feelings, or expose me as a fraud.
It’s disconcerting to have a bizarre inclination to write about my complicated, often miserable, sometimes contented, other times jubilant life. I hear rumors that what you write and share on the inter-web is there forever and can never be taken back [even if you get rid of it the best you know how] and is available for billions to use against you at a future date. And I [sometimes] worry that it might be used against me on judgement day with pointy fingers in my direction. Ugh.
I wonder if what I write on a private blog might be used against me in a court of law! It’s no secret, I guess, that I’ve been going through a rough patch and that the law or courts might eventually be involved.
The other thing I worry about is that my boys might read it and then turn away. I know my daughters love and support me and understand the bulk of what is going on, but one of my guys is totally in camp [L] and there’s nothing I can say or do to convince him what’s been going on. We’ve had a few conversations that have ended up, I’ll just say, distancing us. I don’t like that. I don’t want that.
Another concern is that when I write something, a person [reader] might take that as the sum total of what, who, why, I am. For example, if I have a particularly bad day, a horrific experience, and I write about it and then am actually able to get over it through the ‘process of processing’ but the other person, the reader, doesn’t get over it, well, that’s a conundrum for all. And then they bring it up and say, “Remember when you wrote this . . or that” . . It’s the same principle that’s used over and over in marriage counseling to not discuss your problems with other people. Because after you have worked through something and forgiven the partner, the person you told all those horrible things to, doesn’t forget, doesn’t forgive, and makes your life a living heckola by reminding you what a butt you are married to. They basically hijack your life and don’t let you get to another place. They want to keep you right in the middle of the worse place.
OK, I’m just talking here, cause I’ve never actually had that experience! But I’ve heard it happens.
Oh, my goodness, and the advice I get!! Just the other day one son said, why don’t you call your blog something else? I said, it’s about weighing my thoughts, weighing what’s important to me, weighing my experiences. It’s not saying that weighing on a scale everyday is important. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve explained this . . . OR a dollar for every time I’ve explained that my weight actually does pretty much control everything that goes on in my life, even though, admittedly it shouldn’t and I thoroughly wish it didn’t. You have to be in my shoes to understand this part of me.
Anyhoo . . . that’s why I don’t blog. All these worries.