Too much to say

There was a time in my life when I’d write anything on this page. I shared every story, held nothing back, left it all on the field, and rarely worried about what people thought.

And now, there’s nothing.

Which isn’t to say there’s nothing happening. My world, both inside and out, is a tumult of unfulfilled desires and unrelenting duties that I primarily share with someone whose greatest dream is to be Moana.

There is stuff going on in here. Stuff that desperately needs to come out.

What holds me back is that I don’t want anyone to be shocked. I don’t want the first time people hear about me considering taking Ativan leftover from an MRI to see if it helps the jaw-tightening, tongue-tingling anxiety to be from a blog post.

For example.

I also don’t want to be accused of withholding. Of putting on a brave face. Of airing dirty laundry. Of being a bad example.

“Oh, honey.”
“I had no idea.”
“Are you okay?”
“Why didn’t you call me?”

Maybe worse is silence. The kind I fill up myself.

“You wouldn’t feel/think/deal with that if you were a better mother/wife/Christian/human.”

But where is the time for those conversations between work and baby and commute and all of the rest of life that piled up and around me when I wasn’t looking? Who wouldn’t be shocked by half of what I’d say if given the chance to have those conversations face-to-face?

The response to my last post was lovely. But there was a (small and trying-to-be-helpful) contingent echoing the rallying cry of “don’t care so much what people think!” And they’re right. But also not.

I care what people think because it’s not just me anymore. The person who published everything that was on her mind existed before I committed to my marriage, before I had a baby, before I met God.  Now I’m a wife, mom, and banner-carrier for Christ, where before I was sort of just, this guy, you know?

It’s different now.

There has to be a middle ground. Some balance between past abandon and current self-consciousness.

Maybe the answer is to just do it. To open the valve and let it rush out and see what happens. I keep saying I will, but fear keeps me from it.

Maybe there’s grace enough even for that.


Integration and the returning Hero

There’s a definite pattern of separation and confluence in my life. Intimacy and mystery. Integration, disintegration, integration again. I want everything in its own box, easily findable and useable, far away. I want everything to be in one place, whole and universal, close.

That’s where I sit with this space (and the various others born from this pattern). This was my home, but now it feels like a foreign land. It’s me but not me. I’m in an integration cycle. I want one place, one identity, one voice, one stream. To pull in the feelers and consolidate them into a central, fully-me corner of the internet. All the sites, the posts, the tumblrs, the social media. Integration demands wholeness.

But is it the right choice? Because of how my brain works, I know that in six months or a year, I’ll be aching just has badly to break it all up for neatness and clarity as I’m aching for it all to be one now.

Ebb and flow.

I realize this is vagueposting, though necessarily so. After three months of devotional journalling in quiet solitude, it’s time for me to step back into the world. But I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m not sure you’re ready.

I feel like the Hero returning from their journey. Coming home again after adventuring in the dark, emerging victorious against adversarial forces, bearing wisdom and riches to share. But the Hero is never the same person when they return as when they set out. The journey changes them. And sometimes those they love most, those the Hero wants most dearly to hold close and be safe with, don’t recognize them. Sometimes, home isn’t home anymore.

I’m standing at the edge of the place I left, wondering what will happen when I walk back in the door with scars on my hands and dirt on my face and a pack filled with strange and wonderful things to share with you. The journey, this time away, has changed me. And the fear keeping me from moving is that you may not like the person I’ve become.

But until the Hero returns, the journey isn’t complete. There may be other adventures on the horizon, a life filled with comings and goings and change, but one adventure must end before the next one can start. The Hero has to face an uncertain welcome, confront the old with the new, and deliver the treasure they’ve won, no matter how it’s received.

It’s time for me to come home.

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