Trained
I have been trained by enough readers of this blog not to share bad news. The only outcome is judgement. If I talk about fears involving money; I am begging for help or asking for a handout. If I talk about losing an animal; I was a bad care giver and I don't even deserve to grieve. If I share a story about a sad event; I am pathetic and looking for attention. If I talk about anything controversial - from not liking cats to national politics - I am somehow offending a stranger. One time I tweeted about about not thinking highly of adult coloring books as the new national pastime and I got a half-dozen twitter and facebook messages about my "hate speech" towards coloring books. I refused to respond to those messages. I draw the line at arguing with adults about color books.
This might be just 10% of the emails and comments I get, but that ten percent tears me apart. I have gotten to a place in my blogging life where I am scared to write anything raw anymore. Scared to post pictures of my flawed house, messy yard, or anything flawed with animals or my own highly-imperfect self and life. As a single woman it is getting downright scary to read the things men will say in an email with no name attached to it.
I read once (in a quote I don't know the author of, sorry author) that writers need to have a thin skin to create anything beautiful and a thick skin to share it with the world. I don't have a thick skin, at all. Which is why I ride draft horses, hunt with hawks, shoot a heavy bow, study martial arts, run for miles, and have a farm - because I am trying to become the strong woman all of you think I am. That I dream of being. That I am not. I'm just a broken person like everyone else. A broken person who taught herself that writing makes the bad feelings go away. Or, used to.
So I'll say this. I had a horrible day. I wanted to write here on this blog about it, but winced soon as I opened the post screen. The fall out that might come back to because of it, just the fear of it alone, made me feel like a kicked dog. That fear of going to bed expecting the trigger storm of comments and emails and blog posts and phone calls was an even worse feeling. There is nothing as sickening to me as being scolded by other adults as an adult. Because I believe every word of it alone in the dark on a cold night.
I have been trained to shut up. Tonight I am shutting up.
This might be just 10% of the emails and comments I get, but that ten percent tears me apart. I have gotten to a place in my blogging life where I am scared to write anything raw anymore. Scared to post pictures of my flawed house, messy yard, or anything flawed with animals or my own highly-imperfect self and life. As a single woman it is getting downright scary to read the things men will say in an email with no name attached to it.
I read once (in a quote I don't know the author of, sorry author) that writers need to have a thin skin to create anything beautiful and a thick skin to share it with the world. I don't have a thick skin, at all. Which is why I ride draft horses, hunt with hawks, shoot a heavy bow, study martial arts, run for miles, and have a farm - because I am trying to become the strong woman all of you think I am. That I dream of being. That I am not. I'm just a broken person like everyone else. A broken person who taught herself that writing makes the bad feelings go away. Or, used to.
So I'll say this. I had a horrible day. I wanted to write here on this blog about it, but winced soon as I opened the post screen. The fall out that might come back to because of it, just the fear of it alone, made me feel like a kicked dog. That fear of going to bed expecting the trigger storm of comments and emails and blog posts and phone calls was an even worse feeling. There is nothing as sickening to me as being scolded by other adults as an adult. Because I believe every word of it alone in the dark on a cold night.
I have been trained to shut up. Tonight I am shutting up.
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