Is it 'creepy'?

Writing this blog has brought out some interesting reactions in people.  I mentioned the other day how some people want me to process my feelings in private, but a few days ago I had a reaction that really surprised me.  It struck me as most odd.  The person I was speaking to described the writing of this on-line blog that others could read as 'creepy'.  I was a bit stunned and became quite defensive about my reasons for writing this.

Writing this started as a bit of fun and has become a sort of lifeline for my psyche.  The revealing of myself, in small sections, feels like old-fashioned burlesque rather than full-on striptease.  I get to decide how much of me to slowly give up and how much to hold back.  It is always in my control and the friend who found it 'creepy' didn't seem to understand this.

How much of ourselves do we hide from others?  How much do we easily share?  Why do I write this blog and why daily?  These are questions I never even considered when I started writing this.  I never imagined that I would still be doing this 97 postings later, much less have to answer questions about the whys and wherefores to those who don't even read this, never mind don't want to understand.  Admittedly I have set myself the questions and now feel I should make an attempt at the answers.

Certainly writing this daily has made my life a bit more difficult.  It inevitably happens that I am typing away when Ralph comes in from work.  He sees me sitting in my usual seat on the couch, with laptop in front of me, typing away with great interest.  He would like me to drop everything, jump up into his arms and greet him like the long lost hunter home from a day of working hard to provide for his family. Usually, I look up from the typing, say 'hang on a minute' and then reluctantly get up and say hello.  I have to admit, it's tough being jealous of blog time, but I do love writing this and the discipline of daily writing has been a revelation.

Writing is absolutely new for me.  I never wrote anything on this scale.  I did write all those letters 40+ years ago to Ralph before we were married and this is close to that means of expression.  There is an intimacy I feel when writing though this time round the intimacy is with myself.  I welcome the 'me' that emerges from the page and over the last three months I have begun to find my writing voice.  I still don't think I have much to say, but, boy, do I like saying it.

What am I learning?

I've learned that my dad is a remarkable man.  This sounds ridiculous.  I've been my father's daughter for over 60 years and yet, it was only through writing about him and his history that let me clearly see my father and his journey through life. I've been able to see my parents in a very different way.  Writing gives me an immediacy about my feelings but also a distance from the people I write about so I can see them in a new light.

I've learned that I have the capacity to control my feelings more than I ever realised. Writing down my mood swings and almost graphing their trajectory has meant that I have had to become conscious of how easily my feelings shift and how little advantage there is in hanging on to them. Even the high points have shown me the foolishness of becoming attached to feelings.  Things change.  The highs and lows are just part of my routine.  I have to admit I like them, they give me a sense of aliveness.  I am able to begin to see that there is an addictive quality to the drama in my life. 

I've also learned that there is little about me that I am afraid to reveal.  I'm not too complicated and I have few secrets.  I have things I don't need to share with others and things that are mine and mine alone.  We all have those small secret areas that we don't share.  Sometimes the small secret areas become loud, shouting voices, demanding to be listened to, to be heard.  Through writing this blog I have found a way of not just listening to my inner voice, but also answering that voice in a positive way.  Does this sound crazy?  It doesn't feel it.  It feels incredibly sane.

I've learned that I am creative, loving and beautiful.  I've also learned that I'm lazy, apathetic and self-centred.  So what else is new.  I have learned that my friends and family keep me here and keep me alive.  The overwhelming thing that comes through from writing is gratitude.  Mushy, sentimental gratitude, for a life lived fully and well, for a life of painful times and joyful times, for a life full of opportunities that I sometimes have been able to grab with both hands, and for times when I would have willingly let someone else substitute for me.

I feel very lucky to have found this new way of expressing myself.  Is it 'creepy'?  I don't think so. I think it's great.