I saw a fellow creative post this Dorothy Parker quote earlier this week and I immediately knew I was the complete opposite. I have thrown away, burned, or digitally deleted every journal I've ever owned.
Writing is cathartic. Bringing order, framing, and support to my thoughts is constructive. Revisiting or sharing that writing, though, is painful. Tomorrow I'll have grown has a writer and person and I won't want to be reminded of the naievty of my thoughts or work from today.
A writer by nature, I find myself composing a half dozen essays a week. Most never see the light of day. I don't share my personal thoughts easily, and I never have. Lately, though, I find that resistance to sharing heightened further.
Most of what I write lately is about motherhood and entrepreneurship. And those are scary realities to grapple with. Like so many women, I was fairly certain I understood what motherhood was all about before I became a mom. Now—15 months in—I find myself grasping at straws, trying to stay afloat. Some days I am a rockstar and other days I'm crying on the kitchen floor with my toddler. Writing about that feels wildly uncomfortable. Sharing those deeper thoughts seems unimaginable.
And, while I dip my toes in the entrepreneurship-sharing waters, it feels vulnerable to do so. What if my clients read that I don't have it together at every minute of every day? The personal branding game for so many entrepreneurs is on an unreal level and it feels difficult to be honest about the ebbs and flows of small business ownership.
So, in a level of irony not lost on me, I'm writing about writing...and not sharing.
This is where my brain is at right now. I'm trying to wrap my head around the idea that sharing might have its own merits.