Sometimes writing is easy. Words weave themselves together in my heart and I have only to put them on the page. I read them with surprise and delight, as though someone else had written them.
Sometimes writing is easy. It spills onto the page like vomit. From some wounded place deep inside me whose borders have been compromised. No filter. Gut honest. Raw. (see my previous post)
Sometimes writing is very hard. Of late, it is nearly impossible. I am not altogether sure why.
But, I have an idea…
There is something about exposing your underbelly, for just a minute, to the scrutiny of others, even if it is met with kindness and encouragement, that leaves the skin tender. Sore. Hesitant to go there again.
Besides that, although I was being gut honest in my previous post, it is not altogether true. It is my truth. In one season, one week, one weary, sleep-deprived snapshot of “reality”.
The whole truth is that the people who live in my house often say thank you. My dear husband has made grand gestures of gratitude over the years that speak of his love and his appreciation for all that I am and all that I do. Many of my daily frustrations are born of my own lack of discipline and focus, not the “impositions” of others.
And so, though I captured some measure of truth…a vital anguish with which many mothers wrestle…I was also partly disingenuous.
I have not known what to do with this.
How do I add the things which need to be said without undoing what is true and important in the post? Do I just ignore it? Move on? Write something lighthearted and optimistic and give people whiplash? Put my multiple personality disorder out there with everything else for the world to see?
Truth is sometimes vague and complex. Untruth, or even partial truth, is death to a storyteller.
I am erratic and unwieldy. I crave truth, but am often blind to it. Sometimes my own truth is self-serving and myopic.
However, refusing to write for fear I will again traffic in half-truths is cowardly. Sometimes setting it down, rolling it over with others, is the only way to separate the wheat from the chaff.
Thank you for letting me ramble. I am not sure anyone needs to read this, but I very much needed to write it.
Therapy session over.
See you next week.