The Sad Things: They Ain’t Easy to Talk About

I feel bad a lot of times because I don’t feel like I cover bad things in my life on social media. It’s something I’ve thought about over the past year, when I went radio silent on the blog (and in a lot of other places in my life) because things were dark, man.

They were, and now that we are out of the worst of it, it feels really difficult to remember the darkest parts.

I know both of these paragraphs are true for different reasons.

The first is right because we as humans, but especially women, have been taught that to talk about bad things happening is to complain and to complain is bad. Nobody likes a complainer, right?

So many of us have been conditioned to swallow it and shut the fuck up when not great things happen. We’ve been conditioned in many ways in the ways of complaints – even so far as empty complaining, which is a term I just made up that means “complaining without wanting any action to be taken to remedy the situation.”

The second paragraph is true because even though my brain does dumb stuff, it also does a pretty great job of protecting me from the darkest parts of my life. This is accurate for both current and past traumas. They still lurk there, even after all this time.

I know this because I recently rubbed up against a couple of the oldest, unwillingly.

Here’s the thing, though (and I know it is easy to say this looking back on it, much easier than it would have been to live through it), I think I would have rather remembered. Because, I don’t know about your brain, but my brain does this thing that when it truly understands the root of something… it is makes it so much easier to let it go.

I’ve been able to let a lot of things go over the past few years.

And, more importantly even, work through how to live with the things I am unable to.

Now, look, I also know this seems like it’s easy now because I’ve gone and done all the hard work – almost 200 CONSECUTIVE morning pages are proof of that (and before that, the nameless, endless google docs where I vascillated from blaming myself for literally everything to seeing things as they actually were). Not to mention the multiple years of therapy.

And really being honest with myself, all the way, deep down. Fuck is that hard. That’s the hardest part for me, because this ingrained need to ‘keep up appearances’ that I learned growing up goes so deep. It’s hard to untangle that sometimes.

The other day I realized that I don’t really know what my mom looked like without makeup for most of my childhood, which then turned into me showing up with a full face of foundation to my 6th grade homeroom.

She never showed me what it was like to be happy with yourself as you are, so I never knew how to do it.

And worse, I spent a lot of time teaching D the same lessons.

I honestly don’t know why I wrote this or why I’m sharing it. They were thoughts I wanted to get out, but they were too big for a facebook post. Plus, I ain’t want the Zuck to own my well-thought out words.

Thanks for being a friend, reader.

(my brain told me that was cheesy)

p.s. I’ll try to be better at writing when I am sad. kthx


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