I hate secrets.
I. HATE. Secrets.
They poison relationships, they cause untold problems, they fester and breed faster than something that breeds really, really fast.
That’s why I love blogging, but have no desire to write a diary. There is something beautiful and liberating about the open book that is the blog. Knowing that at any time, any person from any part of the world can leaf through its pages. A couple of days ago, the statistics for my little simple tangles quite literally spanned the world. People from France, Spain, Germany, Sweden, Croatia, Cyprus, Turkey, Pakistan, India, Thailand, Indonesia, Philippines, New Zealand, Australia, America, Venezuela dropped by to have a little squizzle at my (hopefully) unpretentious musings.
What they thought is not so much the point. I find a simple beauty in that open book. I love that through my little words, I have a connection, however slight to little spots of humanity all over the planet.
Knowing this about me, knowing that I tend to breathe deeply and plunge head in to even tough truths…
Knowing that sometimes the truth makes me and others sad, but that tears also have their place…
Knowing that by absolutely facing embarrassment with care, sweetness, compassion and patience, honesty is leading me to a relationship with my little girl that I am truly proud of…
Knowing all of those things about me, you (whoever and wherever you are) will perhaps understand the anguish I have been in for the past few weeks.
I have had to be “discrete” about a very difficult and painful situation. Grown up, sensible, mature reflection means that I simply cannot write anything more about it here. It has been leeching my soul, requiring hours and hours of delicate phone calls, “well-written” letters, checking, and re-checking, asking for help and once again telling my story. More than anything I know that writing about the whole thing would have helped that little “me within” I wrote of a while ago. But the public nature of the blog made that impossible. It saddens me that I believe strongly that writing about it would have righted wrongs (oh… notice that write rights wrongs? how lovely… serendipity at work!) not only for the person I was working for, but probably for many others…
Today this poisoned dart was more or less pulled out. The situation was resolved. Integrity was lacking, honesty was very much in the back seat. All is pretty on the surface and all parties concerned, I am sure, are sleeping peacefully tonight. I’m a little sad that it had to be resolved in the way it did. But all is an awful lot better in my heart now I am no longer carrying it around.
Taking the high road is often not easy or pleasant, nor does it often come with glory, thanks or even recognition. The only solace (and it is in fact of great importance to me) is that I did the right thing at each step of the way. I know that I could not have done better, that I stood up when I needed to, but backed down as soon as a solution became apparent. So I too will sleep tonight.
By writing in this blog, I bare my soul and my thoughts, I place in the hands of the universe my Self. I hope to accept criticisms and question those aspects of that Self that others may find difficult. I love the meeting of minds that comes from conversations begun on this page. In every word, you read Me.
The hardest aspect of the last few days has been the feeling that “I” was not heard or seen. That a girl that looks like me was seen, but in almost every important way that girl was other… She was overprotective, overbearing, stubborn maybe… Certainly a pain in the behind. I was not, I am not that girl. And despite the axiom that we should not care what others think, I hurt at the thought that others look and me and listen to me, but neither see nor hear “me”.
I’m leaving you in the dark, big world.
I can only write what I feel, not what I did, or said, or thought.
The good in this: things always change. Sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better, but things always change. This morning I hurt, I was afraid, I was sad and angry, disappointed and frustrated. This evening, I am at peace. I can move on. There is even a little smile on my face as I can turn back to my “page” and let my fingers dance over the keys once again. This post may well have rambled in a rather strange fashion, but as I once wrote, I don’t edit. So I’ve just skimmed to ensure that nothing “slipped” that shouldn’t have (those blasted secrets poisoning my life again!), but other than that, this is my ramble, my bramble, my tangle.