This blog has existed for eight years, and it even comes up in therapy that it's my number one hobby. This week, after two months of being unable to write a blog, my therapist asked me to write one "for her". I told her it's not writing I struggle with, it's sharing with the public. Yeah, I know, if you've met me, you'll be surprised: like I ever struggled with that. One of the reasons I became a writer is BECAUSE I love sharing, I love conversation and, cornily, telling any sort of story, even my own. And here I was, not really being able to speak about myself for two months. Of course I then asked myself "why?". And after I did the exercise "for her", I did realize what it was: I no longer want my story out there. There is more than one reason for that.
The reason I am in therapy in the first place is that, personally and professionally, I went through two situations last year I can't actually talk about. I could, but it's not a smart idea that would hurt people other than me. The problem is that, if you're me, and it is important to you to share with people what your true experience in life is, the fact you can't tell "the whole story" is disruptive. It makes me feel like I am not genuine which is important to me. I would really like to tell people sincerely what I was feeling this time last year, but societies are not going to react to that information favorably. People like genuine people, but only for as long as they tell a story they can deal with. My stories would make them feel worse, and why would I want to do that? So I never told it. And you can even see now, I'm still not.
That in itself is another reason: I honestly do not trust most people with my genuine feeling. That is hard to say, but ultimately true. My upbringing and past experiences have had an interesting effect on my ability to trust people, which is why I sought out to see a therapist in the first place a couple of years ago. Casually, not because I felt like I needed help. But I couldn't see a conventional way that would rebuild trust in strangers, or even friends. Last year's events did not really help this cause, either. So while it is easy to share that I am seeking a therapist to fix some issues I identified in interpersonal relationships, it is impossible to talk about what caused them. I do not feel bad about not sharing, but I would really like to. But part of having "trust issues" is believing that the information would be abused. And I am almost sure it would be if I was openly talking about my experiences.
In the end, everyone wants a good story, nobody wants these stories a person they may or may not already dislike is telling them about their self-centered perspective. One of the things that have already given millennials a bad name is their attention-seeking ways, and these days, most times I write a sentence for my blog, share an article on Facebook or post a picture on Instagram I am questioning if I am doing it because I want to share or because I want attention. I never really struggled very much with getting attention, and therefore never identified whether I need it or not. But these days, I feel comfortable with my story, and sharing it only makes me feel like I am showing off. And maybe I am (who ever really does it on purpose... I guess, other than assholes?).
Ironically, it took these last few weeks of bliss to make me realize that I am protective of my happiness by not sharing it, too. I never even wrote a single public paragraph about my more than positive feelings for a new human out of fear it could be perceived as bragging, or worse, make other people feel lonely because they don't have this sort of company in their life. I started being critical of couples sharing their V-Day selfies because it forgot all those who would like to do the same. I questioned, and questioned, and questioned if he should appear in my Insta story, and whether I should even post I was on holiday, or at a cool work event, out of fear it would cloud my credibility by only sharing "the good life" which is unfortunately what most social media is still synonymous for. In the end, when I was the subject of an Instagram V-Day post, the author even apologized to me. But of course, I wasn't even mad; I'm just worried that my happiness will attract negative sentiments.
As a result, the writing has ceased. My perceived pressure that the dark parts of my story were not going to delight people, make them feel uncomfortable, my inability to actually trust people with the information and my fear that my genuine account is filtered by a desire to just portray myself a certain way made me stop. I couldn't guarantee anymore that I was being genuine because I didn't have a good grasp of what that means. After now three years of omitting some of the biggest pillars of my personal story in the narrative, I feel like I am faking sometimes. I decided I would give it a shot again, though. I am going to try speaking about the good and the bad in a way I feel represents me. It will never include those pillars, and it probably won't ever include a true ode to my Nice guy, but truth always comes in different lights; I only have one flashlight that can shine on mine.
The reason I am in therapy in the first place is that, personally and professionally, I went through two situations last year I can't actually talk about. I could, but it's not a smart idea that would hurt people other than me. The problem is that, if you're me, and it is important to you to share with people what your true experience in life is, the fact you can't tell "the whole story" is disruptive. It makes me feel like I am not genuine which is important to me. I would really like to tell people sincerely what I was feeling this time last year, but societies are not going to react to that information favorably. People like genuine people, but only for as long as they tell a story they can deal with. My stories would make them feel worse, and why would I want to do that? So I never told it. And you can even see now, I'm still not.
That in itself is another reason: I honestly do not trust most people with my genuine feeling. That is hard to say, but ultimately true. My upbringing and past experiences have had an interesting effect on my ability to trust people, which is why I sought out to see a therapist in the first place a couple of years ago. Casually, not because I felt like I needed help. But I couldn't see a conventional way that would rebuild trust in strangers, or even friends. Last year's events did not really help this cause, either. So while it is easy to share that I am seeking a therapist to fix some issues I identified in interpersonal relationships, it is impossible to talk about what caused them. I do not feel bad about not sharing, but I would really like to. But part of having "trust issues" is believing that the information would be abused. And I am almost sure it would be if I was openly talking about my experiences.
In the end, everyone wants a good story, nobody wants these stories a person they may or may not already dislike is telling them about their self-centered perspective. One of the things that have already given millennials a bad name is their attention-seeking ways, and these days, most times I write a sentence for my blog, share an article on Facebook or post a picture on Instagram I am questioning if I am doing it because I want to share or because I want attention. I never really struggled very much with getting attention, and therefore never identified whether I need it or not. But these days, I feel comfortable with my story, and sharing it only makes me feel like I am showing off. And maybe I am (who ever really does it on purpose... I guess, other than assholes?).
Ironically, it took these last few weeks of bliss to make me realize that I am protective of my happiness by not sharing it, too. I never even wrote a single public paragraph about my more than positive feelings for a new human out of fear it could be perceived as bragging, or worse, make other people feel lonely because they don't have this sort of company in their life. I started being critical of couples sharing their V-Day selfies because it forgot all those who would like to do the same. I questioned, and questioned, and questioned if he should appear in my Insta story, and whether I should even post I was on holiday, or at a cool work event, out of fear it would cloud my credibility by only sharing "the good life" which is unfortunately what most social media is still synonymous for. In the end, when I was the subject of an Instagram V-Day post, the author even apologized to me. But of course, I wasn't even mad; I'm just worried that my happiness will attract negative sentiments.
As a result, the writing has ceased. My perceived pressure that the dark parts of my story were not going to delight people, make them feel uncomfortable, my inability to actually trust people with the information and my fear that my genuine account is filtered by a desire to just portray myself a certain way made me stop. I couldn't guarantee anymore that I was being genuine because I didn't have a good grasp of what that means. After now three years of omitting some of the biggest pillars of my personal story in the narrative, I feel like I am faking sometimes. I decided I would give it a shot again, though. I am going to try speaking about the good and the bad in a way I feel represents me. It will never include those pillars, and it probably won't ever include a true ode to my Nice guy, but truth always comes in different lights; I only have one flashlight that can shine on mine.
