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| Stillwater River |
Yesterday, one
of my readers suggested I write a blog post about bravery, "how it feels
to bravely bare your past." For
twenty-four or so hours, I have been thinking about the topic. In her words, she was saying that I am brave
for sharing my life with my readers.
Now, I do have a confession. The
reader is not an ordinary reader who has stumbled upon my blog. No, she is a beautiful woman who came into my
life in first grade. She knew me as the
little girl in the story yesterday. This
woman is my aunt. And I do think she is
a bit biased.
I struggle with
giving myself credit, so I laughed when I read her suggestion. I am not brave. I just like to tells stories and talk about
myself. Really, I think the word is egotistical. However, I have always respected my
aunt. Shouldn't I respect her thoughts
about me? I still can't wrap my head
around me being brave. Soldiers who go into
battle are brave. Teenagers who make it
through mental illness are brave. I just
tell stories.
I looked up the
word bravery in the dictionary: "brave of spirit or conduct; courage;
valor." The second definition
caught my eye. "Showiness;
splendor; magnificence." All definitions
come from dictionary.com. I laughed when
I saw showiness. Yep, that fits. I keep getting reprimanded by family and
friends because I don't give myself enough credit. At Mass this morning, a friend corrected me
when I said I am not where I should be in my writing. She is right.
I do need to look at my writing differently.
So, back to the
original statement in question form, how does it feel to bravely bare your
past? Truly, I am an open book. The first day I met my son's best friend's
mom at a soccer game, I practically told her my life story. She is more reserved and wondered if I was
right in the head. Luckily she gave me a
chance. She is one of my closest friends
now and has seen the good, bad, and ugly in me.
Thus, baring my past is second nature to me. I don't find it hard at all. Granted, I do keep some topics off the
Internet. I haven't talked about my
battle with food. I haven't talked about
some of the unhealthy relationships in my life.
So, am I really brave?
As I was
vacuuming the office today, I thought about how I don't care what people think
of me. To be brave, you have to fear
something. I don't fear my readers judgment.
In 2004 and
2005, some of my close friends judged the way I handled my husband's deployment
to Iraq. I won't go into the details for
this post, but my life was hell for a couple of months while I listened and
cared about what they thought of me. I
finally decided they were toxic and I stepped away.
Throughout my
adult life, I have been judged by a few close family members. Again, I won't go into this for this post and
maybe never. I will always hope for
better relationships with them. I try to
be sensitive and not talk bad about people on my blog. But suffice it to say, their judgment cut
through my chest, straight into my heart, but I am still standing with my head
held high. Their judgment didn't destroy
me. Thus, I have no fear of other
people's judgment.
I don't feel
brave when I bare my past. I will let my
readers decide if I have courage. I do
feel blessed to bare my past. I have a
love of writing and a vehicle to spread my words, stories. I would love to be able to say I teach
people, give them food for thought, or brighten their day, touch their day in
one form or another. I will continue to
bare my past, brave or not.
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