The last time I wrote here on my blog was months ago. My heart and head were messy. I wrote in great detail of a failed friendship and now, with a clear head a part of me feels that that subject should have remained private. The other part of me acknowledges the woman who was left with no answers and was seeking to find them through her craft. I love and accept them both. That blog post has since been removed.
A lot of people say, "the world can be harsh and cruel..." but I believe it's us, the people in it that shape and extend our harshness onto the world. I recently came to this revelation by taking some time to myself. I've done my best to be present for Brave Babes, but also to remain silent for myself. I've consciously silenced myself for the past six months. Being alone with my thoughts, judgements, questions, and hurts. I've taken time to digest events that have happened and are happening. Finding self compassion and peace required me to quiet my inner brat and remain silent while I sifted through my pain. I apologize if my silence ever felt personal to anyone.
Sharing our stories is crucial in healing. Why do you think people brave psychotherapy and go to AA meetings? Most people find solace in speaking about their painful truths. Especially those of traumatic events. It is extremely difficult for most to talk about the suffering that comes with and follows a traumatic experience. The trauma I experienced in my childhood happened to be shared on my site in attempt to prove my credibility to an anonymous reader. After the shock set in that I had just candidly shared something so personal with not just one, but all of my readers, instead of feeling shame I felt immense healing take place. I was completely content and full of compassion.
Since then, I've at times wanted to share it all, share more. I have the desire, but I struggle with the question of if I should. I run a private support group via Facebook and often women send me messages saying, "you could write a book about all of the experiences you've been through and have overcome," I think to myself that they're right, but I'd have to out a lot of people I love in the process. I don't know how to overcome this fear or if I even want to. There are people in my life who would be characters in my book and the impressions they've left on me weren't always positive. How do you relay that to an audience and keep the respect between you and your loved ones? I already lost the respect and trust of someone this way and I don't think I'm willing to do it again for a stranger's reading pleasure.
I go back and forth with this internal battle often. Do I share my whole story to heal myself and hopefully help others heal? Isn't that my "mission?" Or do I remain silent to keep the peace within my personal life? It's a tough cookie to crumble babes. I've written a lot about my romantic relationships in the past, but the one I'm currently in I hold so sacred. I don't necessarily want to reveal all the in's and out's of the love he and I have created together. It's ours. Part of me is scared that maybe not wanting to share means I'm not really happy, while the other part of me knows I'm simply protecting my happiness. It's hard to hold back when you're accustomed to oversharing. It's something I struggle with daily.
One night my partner read one of my blog posts titled: Boozy Blues. He was in complete shock. We were still honeymooning HARD and he expressed how concerned he was that I didn't share these things with him and instead he had to read it on my blog. He said my life seemed like a sad indie film, to which my reply was, "maybe it will be someday and we won't have to work anymore..." (the sass is here to stay) but I meant it. When I met my partner I was in the midst of healing a deep childhood trauma. Romantic relationships always brought up this pain in me, so his presence intensified my processing. I had mastered the soul sucking structure of the wall I assembled around my heart, but this man was different. He made me want to bulldoze down my heavy-duty detrimental wall. Everyday I woke up feeling like a ten year old girl who was petrified to leave her apartment, emotionally unstable, physically sick with dizziness and exhaustion, paranoid beyond belief, and scared of the woman she was meeting on the other end. I was in a sense meeting myself for the first time, all the while falling madly in love with another person. It was a very confusing time in my life.
While trying to manage my own deep hurts, I failed to recognize the hurts of some of those closest to me. I disregarded other's feelings and selfishly reacted and personalized everything I experienced. And for that I am sorry.
Parading our personal lives on the internet for public viewing can be risky business, yet social media platforms are the way we as a society communicate now. We get constant twitter updates from our very own President. I have friends that would know nothing about my life if I didn't post on social media and visa versa. I'm not sure I prefer this way of connecting over the real deal anymore. I want the real deal more than I want to spill my guts through a computer screen to you. I want to meet you, hold physical space for you, and talk about what bravery means for you.
This past month I've come full circle. I'm fully off of all medication. (so happy!) I have learned to set healthy boundaries and have upheld my oath to abide by them. I have respectfully owned my part in my personal relationships and I show up fully, yet understanding that there is always room for growth. I no longer am plagued by suicidal thoughts or self depreciating monologues. I am a true Brave Babe.
I think I'll always be a bit of a brat though. You can thank my Grandma Dixie for that, but I'm learning that bratty business ain't the bizznass here for our Brave Babes platform. I am learning to silence the brat within and find my way of continuing to share wholeheartedly, but with tact.
Thank you for always honoring me during my sometimes brattish, even bitchy, but mostly beautifully honest posts.
It's looking like I have new stories to write, and I promise you they look nothing like my bratty past.