on sharing.

So, I am obviously not the only woman who is torn between "over-sharing" and deleting an entire blog all together.  After thinking about it, after trying to break it down, I think I worry more about being called an over-sharer and that feeling of being looked down upon, than actually being an over-sharer.

Because so much of the stuff I like to read is open and raw - like Sylvia Plath's journals. I find myself getting lost in her words, feeling her feelings, thinking her thoughts, and all of a sudden, despite her death, despite having lived in another decade, it is as though she is alive and we are friends.  I close the book feeling understood and feeling like perhaps all my disturbing thoughts and feelings really aren't all that disturbing anymore.  I feel normal.  Her honesty and vulnerability were a gift.

And I, too, want to give.

For me, writing helps me not feel alone and helps me feel brave. Even if no one is reading, I still feel better writing - like scrawling my name in the dark with a sparkler.  It's a way of taking control of that which I don't have control over. I can poke fun at myself and tell you what my issues are before anyone else has a chance.  And, then when someone does, it doesn't feel so bad, because by writing about it first, it's as though I've given you permission. It's a way of feeling listened to - and, even if it's just imagined listening, it's better than none at all.  Writing is freeing.  It's paying attention.  It is giving a sense of permanence to this life that feels so impermanent. It is doing and not just thinking as I watch letters and words fill my screen, whether I like the looks of them or not.  It's telling my fear, procrastination, and perfectionism you will not win.  It's a way of keeping the little girl alive as I light candles, prepare hot tea, and pretend that I am...a writer.

And then after all that - after the bravery, after the sharing, I will have written. And, then I am happier.  And, what is so bad about that?

I guess when it comes down to it, I ask myself if sharing is going to help me or hurt me?  Is it going to help others or hurt others?  More often than not, the answer is help.

And so, I share.

(this post inspired by Carey King from Bold Bird)

sunbeams.

breakfast remnants and deep thoughts from sunny, Saturday morning

I've been so inspired lately by this desperate english teacher...whose words and photos evoke the same magical feelings I felt as a teenager as I got lost in the world of Anne Shirley...and the gray, dreary autumn evenings in her little upstairs room at Kingsport Ladies College where she sipped tea and put pen to paper as willow branches swayed outside her window. Ms. Banks writes with such abandon...which is how I like to write, but struggle to do so. I go to write and when pain wants to come out, I'm afraid of looking like an over-sharer or like I'm feeling sorry for myself. I'm ashamed to say, surprise surprise, that my lack of writing has less to do with time and more self-doubt. One minute I'll reread something I've written and think it's good and before I know it, I'm waking at 3am wanting to delete my blog.  Because like Ira Glass says, I like to think I have good taste and I want it to be really good, even though I know no one really cares but me..."Shyness has a strange element of narcissism, a belief that how we look, how we perform, is truly important to other people." Andre Dubus

Here's another good quote I read recently, "Vera said, 'Why do you feel you have to turn everything into a story?’ So, I told her why: Because if I tell the story I control the version. Because if I tell the story, I can make you laugh, and I would rather have you laugh at me than feel sorry for me. Because if I tell the story, it doesn’t hurt as much. Because if I tell the story, I can get on with it.” Nora Ephron, Heartburn

When I'm writing, I do feel like it gives me some sense of control. And, I would rather someone laugh than feel sorry for me - like the speech on
The Sat.  And, yes, when I'm recording stuff, it does help my obsessive brain release it and let go.

After all that, you're probably waiting for me to delve into some sob story I've been dying to tell. But, there isn't one. Just been thinking about this and now I can get on with it.

Or, perhaps delete it at 3am.