Recently, the hashtag #metoo went around social media as a way to show the number and solidarity of those affected by sexual assault. While I appreciated the purpose, and seeing my friends care about this problem, I could not bring myself to even share just the hashtag. That subject, the scarring, is too personal. Defense mechanisms vary, and one of mine is to bury the really heavy stuff way down deep.
I think we all have reasons for not writing (or talking or sharing) about certain things. Maybe it’s because we’re in too public of a role, we want to protect someone, or we just don’t need the internet trolls’ critiques in our life.
I often want to make humor out of taxing situations, which ends up in a blog. But some of the tough situations aren’t meant for public humor. In these times, I turn to close friends, including my husband, that can appreciate the humor comes from my heart. I’m healing too. One of my greatest memories with my step-dad is him leaning over to make a joke at a funeral. It wasn’t malicious or inappropriate, it was coping for him and for me. He knew I needed that moment as much as he did. He also told me not to ever write anything down I didn’t want the whole world to read. He said that before the internet.
This is a really short post about showing solidarity to those who can’t share on social media, or a blog post, whatever it is you’re processing when you lay your head down tonight. Take a deep breath, and know that I hear you. I laugh, cry, and cope with you for the things that we cannot write about.
Occasionally, though, we can find the courage to
“write hard and clear about what hurts.” – Ernest Hemingway