I haven’t written anything in such a long time that I feel like if I even tried to begin writing, like I am now, it will end up becoming a large pile of crap that stares me in the face for years to come. Every damn day I will look back at this piece of writing and wonder, why did I ever decide to press publish. What possessed me and made me move the cursor over to that little blue button on the right hand side? Why do I constant have a need to over-share absolutely everything I am going through or processing online?
People have told me once or twice that I’m “brave” sharing so much content from my personal life, and opening myself up to the blogosphere. To which, I usually retort, it’s part of my Meyers-Briggs test where it concluded that I was 93% extrovert, in which, I proudly own—and while I am comfortable sharing things, I believe the real reason I do it is because I am constantly trying to figure out my own emotional mishegas. And, even in the moments when I am totally fine, I can’t seem to turn off my brain long enough because I am constantly trying to see and understand and discover every perspective.
I mean, in all honesty, it’s probably really selfish of me really—the fact that I subject you to it on such a regular basis—and at the same time, I know that I probably will never stop doing it.
This month I haven’t written as much, or nearly as consistently because I have been going through a lot emotionally and I just adopted a puppy.
That’s right folks, there is an 8 week-year-old puppy living in my house, keeping me up all night, and tearing apart every piece of furniture I own, living in my house. She’s cute really, but she has kept me so distracted and so exhausted, that I haven’t even had a moment to begin to process anything that’s been going on.
So maybe, all of those people who are claiming that I’m brave are wrong, maybe I’m not as brave as they think. I’m not ready to share what I’m going through right now, I’m not ready to open up and lay everything out there in the sense that I usually do, because honestly, I don’t have the mental capacity to even begin to process it.
And yet, here I am sharing. I’m sharing parts of myself without fully sharing everything in an attempt to connect and relieve some of the anxiety I get when I forget to process.
The thing is, we need each other to survive. We need communication and sharing and the breaking down of walls to live. Over-sharing is sort of my way of leaning on each other and reminding myself, and hopefully some of you, that it’s going to be okay.
Does any of this make sense?