April 25, 2010


I remember when I used to write.

I couldn't sleep if I didn't set down all my thoughts to paper.

I have journals full of notes, and drawings, and sketches.

Hundreds of pages of my hopes and dreams.

Things that were haunting me.

Things that I needed to work out.

I've never really treated blogging the way I would a paper journal.

To say that I use a filter would be an understatement.

I think about what I have to say.

Think about what my readers would have to say.

Think about what my grandma would have to say.

Then I begin to edit.

You see, as much as I share with you here,

It is just a persona.

I have private matters that I just won't discuss.

Things I've done,

Or said,

Or wished,

That I was just not comfortable enough to share....

That whole line, "It's not you, it's me,"

Really does come into play.

Because it's NOT you.

It's me.

Thoughts, that I would never share with you.

Thoughts that I won't even share with my husband.

Or my mother...

Because the recesses of my mind are my safe place.

I think there's a lot to be said for not sharing every minute detail of my life.




I think we all have them.

Of course, every body has different boundaries, and that's when the internet can get cliquey.

You only want to over share with someone who over shares the same exact details you do.

You don't want to read something that would make you uncomfortable,

So you live in a nice little blog bubble,

And you get worried every time someone walks by with a needle.

Well guess what,

There's a hell of a lot of needles.

In one month,

I will be outside of my comfort zone.

It's no secret that I've had some pretty major health issues.

I mean, it's not like everybody gets to have a total abdominal hysterectomy when they're just 26.

The rug that is my life,

Got pulled from beneath my feet.

And I fell...

I fell hard.

In one month, 

In exactly thirty three days,

I will get up before you, and talk about what it felt like.

What my heart tells me each time I smell a newborn baby.

How my throat constricts when I think about the life I thought I should be leading. 

My voice will get caught in my throat,

And I will quietly step outside of my comfort zone.

And it will be okay,

Because I will be with you.

And I am counting on you to envelope me in your bubble.

(Figuratively of course, I'm not really that in to hugs.)