You know, I’m really bad at blogging. I’m great at Facebook, because I’ve already friendships that I can cultivate. Blogging is another matter. I love to write, and I know the more I write, the better I’ll get. So, why can’t I just kick myself in the ass and get writing?
Every so often I start thinking, “my writing is crap, nobody’s reading this, what will I write about-stupid things? I’m too superficial. I’m sharing too much/too little.” Then I stop writing. It’s the same way with my journals. And I’m not even sharing the journals with the world. (It’s even more mundane than this blog.)
Then every so often, I get the itch to write again, and what holds me back is, “how will I explain my absence? people will hate me for being inconsistent. my goals changed–I’m betraying my audience. my writing back then is crap” so I still don’t write. I hate disappointing people. If I disappoint them, I feel awful, like I’m expecting someone to yell at me for thirty minutes until that person is finally satisfied they made me feel even MORE awful and at the same time “get over myself.” You know, you can’t ever “get over yourself.” You can work with yourself, your faults, your foibles, your weaknesses, and craft a way to use it to play to your strengths. Getting over yourself just does not work.
I know that logically I’m being stupid and overly self-critical, but it’s still a pretty real barrier that I can’t quite get past. Even if I do write again, I stop pretty quickly, because the self-criticism monster wasn’t actually beat in the first place. (Can you ever beat that monster? It’s more like a continual battle.)
And I know this is also stupid, but this is also another barrier: fear of my parents finding it and reading it and pretending they still know me just to put on a good show. I don’t want any part of their perfect veneer anymore. “Oh yeah, we still keep in touch [proceeds to share the latest news I wrote on a blog]” “Oh, yeah, we’re such a perfect family! We have our faults, just like anyone else…” yeah right, abuse is not merely a “fault.” It’s fricking abuse. You can see why I don’t want to participate in that.
On the other hand, part of me wants to write and show them how awesome I’ve been despite all the crap they’ve done over the years. You know, like the “ex-boyfriend” syndrome some gals have of losing weight just to spite their exes and make themselves feel awesome again? It’s like that. It’s a silent “fuck you.”
After sharing these fears with my amazing, amazing FB friends and my husband, they told me to go ahead and say, “fuck you” and do what I want to do, and don’t let their memory and continued existence continue to cast a shadow over my life. They can do what they want, but I know the truth, everyone that matters knows the truth, so why would my parents’ actions affect me?
So. It’s the new year, and I have a feeling that 2012 will be a good year. Imma make the most of it. And Imma try blogging again. Guilt-free, this time. I’m doing this for me.
Now. For some tea. I’m exhausted and it’s only noon. Crap.