When I started this blog 70 days ago, my relationship to it was tenuous. I was ready to pitch the whole experiment on day 3 in favor of watching some teenage angst, Dawson’s Creek style (see Truth #3). But I didn’t and I haven’t.
The whole point of doing this experiment as a blog was to hopefully, consciously or unconsciously, put some of my shame to rest. If I was simply writing in my journal every night, I would be staying hidden. I needed to know that there was at least the chance that someone else might read “my truths” for them to have the value to me that I hope they do. It isn’t just about knowing my truth, but about reclaiming it, owning it, stepping into it as mine, and not being ashamed of it.
That said, I have kept the domain name a secret. A few of my closest friends, my mom, and my therapist know about the existence of a website and the nature of my nightly posts. I have even read several of them aloud from the screen of my smart phone. While my experiment requires a potential audience, I wanted time at the beginning when that audience was still only imaginary. I write my truth as I know it. I needed to know that I could do that without editing myself because my mom might be on the other end of it.
Tonight as I was driving home from dinner with one of my dearest friends I realized that I want to share this with people. I will continue to write whether anyone is reading or not, but I’d rather not be entirely alone here. (For the sake of full disclosure I do still have the occasional Daily Show fantasy (see Truth #9), but it’s a bit like white noise, easily ignorable.) The truth is, I want to feel seen.
Truthfully, I want someone to read all that I have written here and then wrap her arms around me and tell me she loves me. I want reassurance that I’m okay exactly as I am. I want to know that it’s alright to feel the things I do and think the ways I do. I want someone else, knowing everything that’s here, to tell me that I’m good enough. Because I can’t, for the life of me, seem to do it for myself.