When I first decided to publish this blog, I took a friend’s advice, “Just hit publish” she said, “ Who knows if anyone will read it anyway?”
I had purchased the domain name almost 12 months earlier. I had no doubt. Emotionally constipated. Who hoo that’s me…it’s in the stars!
The title was never in doubt, it was usually my opening line at a speed dating event and was often received with a chuckle, and I’m sure some scepticism. But I prided myself in being honest…you won’t get dolphin tattoos and hand holding from me. I’m just not built that way. That warm and fuzzy stuff makes me uncomfortable. And of course, there’s a story there to share…just not quite now.
I had written (posts), generally in fits of inspiration (and desperation). Several at one time, and then nothing for weeks. The writing came easily to me, I was 9 again, and loving it.
For 12 months it became my private place to share (with no one other than myself) my frustration and ramblings, the ridiculous and the comforting. And surprisingly it provided a place to find some peace and equilibrium;
because when it all stays in my head, the incessant chatter is overwhelming and nothing makes sense
I had no plan on my approach. Whether to be completely objective sharing the latest in scientific research into Chronic Fatigue, Fibromyalgia or Lupus, or whether I would be uber-positive and annoyingly optimistic (unlike me) trying to convince myself or others that life with a chronic disease can be rich and fulfilling. I’m still struggling with that one.
I didn’t plan to share my deepest and darkest days, because I was (and still am) afraid if I actually admit to it, and feel the pain in its fullest and most terrifying grandeur, that it will envelop me and I’m afraid I won’t be able to find a way to get up and into enough air, let alone find the strength to get out of it.
I just planned on being…I don’t know…just plain old honest. And ultimately, much to my surprise and dismay, vulnerable.
An emotion I had been keeping well-guarded for most of my life.
And in the moments of doubt, sprinkled with troll-associated terror, I kept reminding myself “who knows if anyone will read it anyway?”
So I hit publish. Privately. Quietly. Sharing only with those closest to me. Scared to death that they would think it was boring, unengaging or even worse “I’ve heard this all before.”
And out they go. One at a time. As the tightness in my throat clenches hard and the pain in my chest rises until I feel like I’m going to choke or hurl; every time I hit publish.
And then it comes. Like clockwork.
Texts. Phone Calls. Tears.
Emails. Likes. Joy.
Comments. Engagement. Relief.
From people I know and most surprisingly from those I don’t.
It’s a rollercoaster of feelings I don’t quite understand. A mix of terror and sublime bliss. Trepidation and exultation. And it all happens out there, within moments, completely out of my control.
My writing is a little more stable now. There are no fits of inspiration, I notice a story in almost every interaction I have. It’s just the courage to jump on that rollercoaster which still terrifies me.
And I realise that this funny little thing called life is rather persistent, forever trying to remind me to slow down, to observe, to share and to enjoy.
So as I take my morning walk with Franki, as I sit at yet another doctor’s office, and as I struggle with a downward dog, some days more than others, I remind myself to step back. Store the memory. Feel the anxiety and the fear.
Let it marinate, but don’t let it stew.
And when I’m ready, bring it back and toss it around like a good Greek salad and write. And in time, find the courage to publish.
So thank you for indulging me and sharing in my exploration.
Without your likes, your comments, your high-fives…my search for a daily scoop of fibre, comes much easier than I ever thought possible.