Open Me



Um...okay, this is NOT me,
but kind of what I feel like on a really good day.



The other day in the grocery store I ran into a girlfriend of mine.  We got to talking and eventually my blog came up, and she told me how much she enjoys reading it, as well as how refreshing and surprising it is that I am so open about myself and my past.  It's weird to me how shocking this is to so many people.  I know that I am unequivocally open about a lot of stuff, but the interesting thing is, I wasn't always this way.  I used to be very self-conscious about how I presented myself to the world, and, ironically enough, I wanted the world to think that I was perfect.  I had to look a certain way, dress a certain way, act a certain way, and so on and so forth.  Man, that was REALLY exhausting!  When I was finally able to let go and just accept that people are, or are not, going to like me for who I am, I was able to finally take a long-awaited deep sigh of relief -- it's like I had been holding my breath for 35 years in a row.

I don't view all that I have gone through or shared with the world as necessarily positives or negatives, they are just experiences that are a part of me.  They make up the fabric of who I am, and if people want to judge me for them, then that is up to them.  Like, the whole thing about being molested.  People were so surprised that I shared that information.  But why does it have to necessarily be something shameful?  I didn't choose for it to happen, it just did.  And that doesn't make me a good or bad person, or change who I really am inside.  I suppose I think of life as a series of circumstances, and what makes us individuals is how we react to, and learn from, those circumstances.

As human beings, we fear judgment from others, and yet continue to judge others ourselves.  This is something I strive not to do, although I'm far from always being successful.  Maybe I trust the world too much, or maybe I'm just getting to be secure with myself, but for whatever the reason, I do find that I am able to share a great deal of personal information with ease.  I don't tell the world everything, however -- there are things in my life that if I wrote about them would affect far too many people.  And I would never want my stories to hurt or to be detrimental to another person.

I sometimes put poetry in my blog, and I know that stuff is totally out there.  But, again, if people judge me for it, or for what I write, then that is their right to do so.  I do love writing poems, as I love creating with something as simple as everyday words.  But poetry is itself a matter of very individual taste, so I don't expect everyone to be able to relate to, or like, what I put down in this format.

By being so honest with the world, I have had a number people, particularly women, come up to me and tell me that they too have had similar experiences, and that they are grateful to have someone put it into words as a means of relativity for them.  That, in itself, is all the validation I really need with this thing.  Sometimes, however, after an especially forthright post, I do find that people look at me a little differently, as if they don't know exactly what to make of me. 

And sometimes I don't even know what to make of myself.  I mean, a couple of years ago, I was practically a shell of a girl, unaware of what I wanted or who I was, and trying to be all things to all people at all times.  I did the right things, I said the right things, but I wasn't really happy or fulfilled.  This blog, among other things, has been an invaluable tool for me to come forward and free myself, internally, as well as externally too.

I know this is not a funny post, but I felt compelled to write all this down for whatever reason.  I am sure the next one will be preposterous, as that is who I am also.  For I am silly and serious, appreciative and restless, perfect and imperfect, and, of course, I am simply me.