I do my best to live my life with no intention of hurting anyone. I believe I am fair, loving and careful with my words. Honestly, I believe most of us go through life this way. I suppose this is why I am open, forgiving, and empathetic.
This blog is MY personal space. I was initially going to say that it is my PRIVATE space but... I suppose it isn't private, is it? It is ON THE INTERNET and ANYONE can access it.
And because of a recent uncovering of my identity, I have found that I must go even more anonymous than I was previously. There is a part of me that wants to take advantage of the Blog2Print feature. Just print the whole thing and start over from scratch.
I cannot delete it. I cleaned out boxes in my garage today and found my journals chronicling my life from age 7 until now. I read about that little girl who struggled so hard to love herself. I read about the teenager who was filled with sadness at unrequited love and other joys of teenage angst and drama. I read about the young woman who questioned who she'd become in her life. I read about the confusion of choices made and regretted. I read about pregnancy and giddiness and sadness at a miscarry. I read about the love for my children, holding their fresh little plump bodies as babies and how they filled me with such heart-pounding joy.
I cannot delete this. Not a single post of it. These are my words. This is my perception of the events that I've been through. This is MY STORY.
My story may not be the truth of anyone else. We all have our stories. I do not choose to be right. I choose to share, to process, to find ME. This is my quest.
Yet, there has been a discomfort caused by my own personal processing. I cannot convince anyone of my intention. Fear says it doesn't matter.
I refuse to be censored but I will watch my words carefully.
I'm still trying to decide what to do.