Monday afternoon as I was heading out for lunch, I happened to be leaving the office at the same time as a co-worker. It happens.  Our schedules are flexible and we take lunch when we want to.  I just typically prefer to dine or walk alone. I don't hate people, I just really love my solitude.  We struck up a conversation that lead into him treating me to lunch and we shared about our lives and families.  He told me me that he's a very private person and I laughed as I told him about my blog.  He was genuinely supportive, but we're different people.

Much of my family is very private. I am not.  Growing up, my Dad always told us that "whatever is hidden will be shouted on the rooftops." I came to understand that whatever I wanted to keep private would ultimately come out and burn me. Or shame me. Or burn bridges for me. 

As a mom, I started feeling that if I didn't want anyone to know about what I was doing, I probably shouldn't do it.  I don't ask my kids to keep secrets. It's unfair to them and it just means that if they're angry with me, my secrets will end up as something they'll share later. I know because we've had many laughs over things meant to be kept secret during car rides. It helps that I'm so open and honest with my boys.  They see my good side and all of my bad.  I remember asking my kids what they think about the changes in our home, since it was just me and them. Kid2 noted that now "mom is working on keeping it real." At the heart of who I am and what I give them, they love and accept me as I am.  They know they can call me out when I'm being hypocritical and they do.  And in transparency, I get to call out my faults, apologize and rebound powerfully.  But why would I share it outside of my home? Why would I keep a blog about it all? 

At first, blogging was free therapy.  Writing was really hard for several months.  Anytime I tried to write more than two sentences, I would trash it.  It wasn't worthy of the paper I wasted. I had it in my head (because my ex put the thought there) that my love of reading and writing was what ended my marriage.  I couldn't do it.  Once I began to purge and explore what love and life and being me outside of marriage was, the words began to flow and my healing began. 

I was writing out my thoughts and anxieties.  I was writing my hopes and dreams.  I was writing. And slowly, people were starting to read what I wrote. I don't have many followers and I don't make money off of my blog, but I write and it resonates and that feedback is my payment. 

Every once in a while, I'll get a response or a comment from someone that could relate to my words.  I offer insight or healing, or maybe a mirror.  I take what life hands me and I beat it out with my finger tips and as my bleeding flows out, healing happens for me, and in some way, it helps others heal. We're living in a time when answers are found online, and even if the answers aren't healing, in some ways, you can search for my healing.  

When I miscarried in April, it was a flood gate for my family.  I wrote about my grief in the days where it was most powerful for me. I left it all in that post, and to this day have a hard time going back to read it. Miscarriage is rarely talked about because it's so uncomfortable.  People have a hard time imagining losing a child because it's not how it's supposed to be.  The point of parenting is to do your job so well each day, that each day your children are one step closer to life without you. One day, you'll leave this world and you shouldn't have to know what it is to lose your child.  You're supposed to make your children orphans when they are grown enough that they can survive with your memories. With my loss, my mom was able to grieve the loss of her twins over 50 years ago. Family talked about their miscarriages or simply held space because they knew what I was going through. 

When I write about suicide, it's from the stand point of someone that has been there and known what it was like to weigh the reasons to live or to die.  I've held knives to my skin and counted out pain pills on a table.  I've known depression for years and can tell you that suicidal thoughts are not about the people that would survive.  In my darkest hours, it's never occurred to me what I would put my family through.  It was always a place so dark, I couldn't imagine clawing my way out.  I couldn't imagine seeing change in the next day because I couldn't see past the next hour.  It's been called selfishness, but not in the way that most people think.  You are not using selfishness to take something from someone else. It's selfishness because it doesn't occur to you to think outside of yourself.  And I write because I know there's help. I know there's hope.  I know these feelings cycle and wash over you in waves, and if you can wait long enough, it'll fade.  And there's medication, and there's therapy.  There are friends that will sit with you, and hospitals that will guard you so you don't harm yourself.  I write to help.  

I write about being abandoned and surviving the end of a marriage because it's not easy and I know I'm not the only one. Yes, you are stronger than you think. You will love life as the head of your suddenly peaceful home.  You'll figure out what it's like to go on your first date in a decade and a half.  You'll figure out the good and the bad that is online dating.  I have a whole series on how to spot a cat fish. You'll get a new sense of what matters to you and discover the areas where you made choices based on someone else's desires and call it compromise.  You'll grieve.  It's not just the mate you chose but the life you planned.  What you planned included someone else and those dreams and hopes will shift into a solitary journey and it's not nearly as fun as planning a life with someone else. You'll explore the ways you've walled off your heart and you'll see the ways you still believe in love.  And you'll get to remember what it's like to have a first crush after only looking at your spouse, and seeing true possibility like you haven't as a spouse.  And you'll get to fall in love all over again.  

I touch on domestic violence. It's not always about being hit.  It rarely starts with violence.  It looks like financial abuse and control. It looks like an impossible financial accountability that usually comes with a double standard. I write about gas lighting and the different ways I questioned what I knew to be true because I was made to feel crazy.  I write about emotional abuse and manipulation.  My therapist felt it was an incredible breakthrough for me when I sat on her cream colored couch, holding a pillow and crying out loud, "I am an abused woman." It was a starting point and breaking the cycle of what I allowed is still something I'm working on. I write so I can support others in that. 

I write about being an autism mom but it's not my sole focus.  While it's important to advocate for your kids and be well versed in policies so you can paper tiger through IEP's, I also feel it's important that I protect them by giving them space from my writing.  At the same time, mothering them is like breathing.  It doesn't matter as much that they are autistic as it did when they were first diagnosed.  When they were first diagnosed, I was so broken by the goals and dreams I had for them, that suddenly had nowhere to go.  What I wanted and expected shifted.  And I learned it's not about me.  It was a lesson that took years.  It hit me one Mother's Day.  I felt cheated out of my day for another year.  (This happened all the time until I started buying my own presents). I realized Mother's Day isn't about the mom. It's about graciously accepting whatever your children have for you so they can learn what it is to give.  It's about showing them how much you value their consideration and how much love you can show them.  I'm an autism mom but autism is so much a part of who we are that it's no longer an identity. It's who we are as a family. Autism matters less than how much they know they're loved and accepted. 

I think the biggest part of me I want to share is my drive to be a better person.  I do collections for work, and today I set up payments for a woman paying her father's debt as he's no longer able to.  It broke my heart that this is what I'm doing, but it's my job.  I approached it with love and compassion and by the end of the call, she was thanking me and telling me it was the nicest collections call she had ever been on. It's easy to approach life with anger and hate.  It's everywhere and you don't often have to dig deep for it.  My goal is to be the person I want my kids to have as an example.  I want to live in integrity and show indomitable character. When my marriage was first ending, I was incapable of that.  As I'm spending more time writing, I'm more reflective and intentional with my actions.  I'm more self aware of my thoughts (and boy have I had a potty mouth lately). Writing keeps me accountable.  

And writing helps me get stronger. I had a conversation with my boss last week where his decision wasn't one I agreed with.  It took a few hours, but before the day ended, I walked over to him and took a seat and I explained why I disagreed.  He is the Controller for my company. He's intelligent and dominant.  I totally admire him and I was absolutely intimidated.  Speaking up like that is something I've never been able to do in romantic relationships and this is a man that could decide to fire me.  I was telling him I thought he was wrong.  Yesterday he took me out to lunch (part of our team's budget).  He showed me that my opinion was valued and also gave me guidance on approaching things next time.  He encouraged me to distance myself so I don't burn out, while the CFO called my anger, "passion for what you do." I've mentioned I love my job and my team, right? I would have never been able to have that conversation if it were five years ago. 

I take the good, the bad, the painful and the messy and I share it.  I write vulnerably because no matter how it lands and whether or not it's accepted, it's transparent, and holding it in serves no one.  Sharing it out can support someone express what they feel.  I write because I know others can relate and find healing.  It's not for likes or shares.  I really don't get those. It's not for money.  It's about connection. It's for me and it's for anyone that comes across my blog.