I have been censoring my thoughts and words this week and it hurts.
I live out loud in this little place called My Blog. I am careful with what I write here because friends and family read this and I do not want to set off any false alarms. As a rule this works well for me because it puts me in a place that I most-like-to-be. One can usually find the lessons within life's little challenges. Sometimes my fingers take me that spot sooner than I may get there if I rely solely on my reasoning abilities.
This week started out like any other. I was living my quiet little life, seasoned with ups and downs and the emotions one feels as you sort through the rubble of the day. This week is no different than any other ... except for the fact that I am a little more consumed with worrying about my financial state of affairs than usual (note to self: do not undertake any further renovations until you have the cash to do so).
Mom called me on Sunday night. She was concerned about the tone in the blogs that I sent to her. These blogs were one to two weeks old. Old news. Old worries. Old words. If I was my mom, I would think "Wow! Look how she worked through that little mess..." and I would carry on with my own self-absorbed world.
Need I say more? I am not my mom. And she is not me. She worries. She worries oh-so-much. She exhausts me with the energy she spends on worrying. I make every attempt not to be the source of her worry-of-the-moment.
I'm tired. My life is too 'loud' at the moment. I can't find my quiet little space and a safe space to unleash my words. I need a spot to be real and uncensored.
I haven't found that spot for a little while and I lost my centre of gravity. The world beneath my feet was not quite as stable without those real and grounding conversations. In fact, I was almost at the point where if I had to have another mindless conversation about nothing I may have screamed. Out loud.
Then I had to worry about my mom. I couldn't even write honestly because of what I thought she may think and how she would internalize my words. My mom doesn't even have the Internet and has no way of knowing what I write here unless I print it off and send it to her. This is the power that my mom (still) has over me.
I was immobilized. Over nothing.
I was not overly affected by living my own life in the fashion that I was living it until my mom called me Monday night and didn't find me at home. She called my son and he didn't answer his phone. She called my home again and we have an unspoken pact within our home - we don't answer the phone unless the phone call is for us (so my Youngest Son didn't answer the phone either). So my mom called my brother searching for clues as to where I may be.
When I finally got home from donating blood and picking up a few groceries, I returned my mom's call. She was a mess. She had concocted wild and crazy scenarios where (I think) she thought I was having a mental breakdown. I made every attempt to relieve my mom's concerns but I don't think I succeeded.
Suddenly I was without words. What could I write and think about that my mom wouldn't obsess over. Apparently nothing. I started a few posts on my days-without-a-post and I couldn't complete them. Too serious. Too wordy. Too revealing. What would Mom think??
My mom had no reason to worry to start with. Sure I had some shades of blue in my days. Who doesn't? It feels better if I release some of that useless anxiety. The moment I write it or speak it or truly let myself feel it, those worries lose their power.
Living quietly kills me softly and quietly. Little things become powerful and I become a (blue) puddle on the ground beneath my feet.
Living out loud is my reality. I have safe spots where I spill my words so that they lose their power over me.
When you have 'real' conversations with people you are vulnerable. People may think you are weak or crazy or a myriad of other things. But what I have found to be the truth, is that when I live out loud and tell people my truth, I hear a different version of their own truth. Openness and honesty is the only foundation (in my books) for friendships that are real and lasting.
People all around me are hurting these days. I don't know where to turn some days. But I do know that the moment I stop hiding behind the façade that I think that my mom most wants to see, I become more of who I am. More honest. More compassionate. More open. More happy. More ... real.
Will I recycle and reuse the ideas within the posts titled "S.A.D.D." (Seriously Affected by these Dark Days) and "Walking a Tightrope"? I am not sure. Perhaps I will just go back and hit 'Publish' in their unedited form.
My week of Living Quietly has not been one of my better ones. I just got off the phone with the friend that I call when I have days (weeks) like this and we grounded each other in our parallel view of this universe. I feel sane and grounded and have found my centre of gravity again.
I'm going to Live Out Loud today. It feels right and it feels good. I find my happy by not burying myself under life's little speed bumps. I'm going to sail right over those bumps and worry about aligning my wheels another day when I have more time (and money).