I confess that this writing challenge was easier in my head.
Regardless of how many times I’ve done it: spilling, ranting and roaring for everyone to read is scary.
Once someone told me I was mysterious, and I took it as a compliment. I wasn’t anti-social or mean, my personal business was just my business. Now it almost feels like that mysteriousness is working against me. I have a big head full of secrets. Some of them are my own, some belong to others.
In my mind, being vulnerable is like saying: This is me, all of me for you to have.
I can’t just give someone access to all those secrets. I confess that I’d rather write my frustrations, happiness and sadness than talk about them.
After my mother died, I wanted to be closer to my friends and their families. My sisters and I are 3 completely different people who grieve in different ways, and at different times. My way involved staying busy doing anything with my friends that didn’t involve talking about my feelings. It just wasn’t my thing.
When people ask, “How are you?”, like most people, I rarely give an authentic answer. “I’m okay” and “I can’t complain” flow easier than, “Today I barely made it out bed” or “I’m stuck in my thoughts.” I don’t want to attend my own pity part, and I don’t need to be placed on a pedestal. So what do I do instead? I write it down.
…in my journal, and in my head.
I confess that I want a safe space outside of my pen and paper.
I confess I don’t know how to get there.
This post is a part of Twenties Unscripted’s Write Your Ass Off April writing challenge. My prompt for the day is Confess.