There are so many things I want to write here on my outlet, my space, my venting venue...but, alas, anything too truthful or candid or honest about motherhood, marriage, relationships will cause alarm, vexation, worried comments from loved ones. None of which I want. Sometimes I want just to talk here. Not be judged or cause anxiety. But I don't feel I can. There are always furrowed brows with such honesty. This is not the place. I've learned that if you want your writing to reflect your inner-most feelings...you have to write a secret blog or journal.
So, this space will smile and rarely frown. I can vent to my dear friends in private...eshewing here the murky emotions and flirting with words that paint the blue skies and brightly-hued butterflies of parenthood.
My writing feels this dishonesty...flat and empty...but it will bend back towards the light soon. Every sprout arches and climbs towards the light source. Craning around corners, clinging to lattice for access. Unfurling in the sun.
I crane. I cling. I will unfurl.
Maybe it's all just a matter of sleep. Or the perpetual lack of it.
Comments