Being Human

I think sometimes I get so caught up in writing something of substance that I forget that I actually have solid, strong feelings on a day-to-day basis. I think my feelings are a part of the reason why it takes so goddamned long, at times, to generate the next blog post. Needless to say with that introduction, I’ve been feeling all the feels as the kids say nowadays.

It’s a daily struggle whether or not I’m going to opt for a distraction in the form of fermented grapes and an hour’s worth of some fictional character’s drama or if I’m really going to go head to head with all my shit, which usually entails some form of incessant introspection and typing, deleting, typing, deleting, typing – I think you get the picture.

Being gentler with myself, allowing myself to do and/or say things that before, I may have brutally, undeservingly, chastised myself for is something I am intently working on. Realizing that I’m human and permitting myself to behave as one reminds me of realizing, on multiple occasions, that my mother was also human – not just a mother or a parent but a woman with a past and experiences that I had nothing to do with. This, thankfully, made our bond stronger, essentially building a strong foundation for a magnificent friendship and I can only foresee the same happening with myself. The gentler I am with myself and the more I can understand about the things I say and do without lashing out will hopefully, in time, create greater inner peace and harmony – a friendship with my soul, if you will. By no means am I tooting my own horn because I have a lot of work to do yet but I can say I’m off to an impressive start.

Have I mentioned that I go to therapy twice a week? Well, I do and I find it necessary to keep my anxiety at bay. My mind is constantly thinking. I have never been able to master the art of meditation if there’s anything even there for me to master. I would love to be able to switch off my mind the way vampires can switch off their emotions in the CW’s Vampire Diaries – yeah, I watch too much TV. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would sound like – the nothingness of my brain. If I didn’t believe that everything was possible, I wouldn’t be convinced of the possibility of not thinking – not with the way my mind has worked for the last thirty-one years at least.

I tend to be an open book but to be honest, there is quite a bit that I do not share, that I don’t feel I can or should share for various reasons – the first and most important reason being that I do strive to maintain some semblance of a private life. As writers, especially as writers of the personal experience, non-fictional type, the lines can become so blurred that, at times, it feels as if one is cautiously writing which can feel limiting because while I cannot speak for all writers, I can say that this is therapy for me, too. Sometimes, the cathartic need to share is so intense yet so inappropriate and not sharing something can unfortunately create a deep and powerful sense of loneliness. I’ve been so busy sharing all of these personal stories that so many people can relate to but what happens when I can’t share something for fear of invading somebody else’s privacy or for fear of the negative social backlash? As I said earlier, it’s so easy to forget that I, too, have feelings. I’m a writer, a woman amongst so many other things – I am human.

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