I’m terrified by the thought of my family and friends discovering this blog. Why? I don’t know. It’s not as if I post wildly inappropriate college stories or make derogatory comments about anyone and everyone. I share some experiences and post some written art. It’s nothing wrong; it’s not a diary, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I’m immensely proud of my writing and would love to reach more people with it. So why is it that I’m completely comfortable sharing my words with strangers all over the world, but cringe at the thought of posting a link to my Facebook wall for everyone I actually know?

Perhaps it’s because I feel as though they don’t know about the side of me who writes about darkness and abuse and sex and wreckage. They’re familiar not with the poetry that comes easily, but rather the fluffier rhymes that feel safe. They don’t know about some of the heartbreaks that absolutely shattered me in the past. They’re likely to question my inspiration. They’re going to wonder if these stories are true, and just how much trouble I’ve gotten into. The truth is, not many and not much, but that doesn’t make for good writing.

There’s a good chance that it’s due in part to the fact that several posts here have been inspired by people I know and care about. People I loved and lost. People who inspired, annoyed, enchanted, and betrayed me. How would it feel to give them easy access to my feelings? I don’t like not knowing if the people I write about would recognize themselves through my side of the story. I don’t like not knowing how they’d respond.

Maybe I’m scared because I’ve always been a secretive person. I don’t like it when people I actually know try to follow me on every social media platform that they can think of. I hate being monitored like that. See, I don’t feel the need to share everything, and sometimes that includes kind of important things. When people start to become nosy and insist on finding out the details that I prefer to keep private, things will get messy. I don’t know if that’s worth it.

I guess I’m most afraid of what questions they’ll ask. I have no doubt that my mother and father will both stalk my page and read every post I’ve ever written at least once. Like I said, I’ve always kept things to myself, so they’ll be shocked and excited to finally get some insight. I don’t know what will come of that. What if they’re mad? What if they’re upset? How am I supposed to keep posting current and honest concerns when I know they’re reading and are likely to call about whatever issue I’m having. Newsflash: I don’t really want to talk about it, I just want to write until it hurts less.

Maybe I’ll share with them soon, maybe I won’t. I haven’t decided yet, though I imagine it will be more of an in-the-moment decision when I do finally make the call.


3 thoughts on “Sharing

  1. I told my mom she could read it, but that I make a lot of dick and fart jokes. She just said “eh, maybe I will.” Maybe I’ll compile a book of my favorite posts and force her to read it out loud at Christmas?

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