Tick tock

My WordPress app on my phone has lost its mind. That’s ok, I guess, since I’ve been feeling about the same myself lately.

It’s hard sometimes in the flow of daily responsibilities to remember to make time for things that matter to us personally. Lately, I’ve been caught up in trying to get our ducks in a row to finally be able to move into our own place (no easy task when saving is the name of the game and you’ve never been good at it), getting an old Etsy store I made but never used, redesigned and up and running before I loose what little computer access I have, trying to be a wife, sister  Mom (Witchlet turns 21 in 6 days), grandma and more.

I think I’ve about conquered the Etsy store other than waiting on them to approve the name change (Tiger and I decided to go into business together on it with our crafts).

Sometimes I feel like I’m falling behind watching my sister craft. She’s got an immense talent for all things crafty that I missed somehow.

I have to remind myself (sometimes often) that although I do craft, our talents really lie in different places.  While she is good at making absolutely anything with her hands, I struggle with some of the techniques she uses.  On the other hand, my creativity comes from somewhere else. 

Oh sure, I craft.  I can make dream catchers and leather and bead key chains.  I can make Shrinky Dinks.  I can cross-stitch.  There are even a few of the things she does that I feel certain I could do, but where my creativity really comes in is in things like writing.  I know that might be hard to tell by looking at this blog. 

I don’t write as much as I should, or would like to.  When I do sit down to write, I’m usually either half asleep (like now) or in a hurry.  I don’t usually write what I need to write.

I guess part of me still fears negative judgement…in which case, the internet is probably the absolute worst place for me.  Another blogger recently said they were their own worst critic (not in those exact words, but that was the gist of it) and I identify with that.

I delete a lot of drafts.  Sometimes it’s simply that I start writing something, get pulled away, and then totally lose the flow of what I was trying to convey.  I think that happens to all of us sometimes.  Other times, I’ll decide that it isn’t good enough, or it’s too personal, or it went too far off where I meant to go with it.  Whatever the reason, I find myself clicking that delete button more often than I probably should.

In my last post, I wrote a little about having nightmares.  I have them often.  I used to write them down in a notebook after I got up, kind of like a journal.  If I go back and read those entries, I see a writing style that is free from bias and rules.  I write whatever is in my head without sensor (kind of like that last post, although some of the entries make that sound bland and tame) and some of it is really good, in a dark and twisted sort of way. 

It truly is a peek into the inner workings of my mind…but those were easy to write.  I wrote them only for me, never intending for anyone else to see or read them.  I can feel that freedom in the words.

For public writing, I often find it hard to have that same openness, that same “I don’t care how it sounds” vibe because I know that someone just might read it.  I have had a few comments on posts on here, so I know it’s always possible that someone will be intrigued (or bored) and read what I’ve written or even that someone from my family might read it (I haven’t exactly kept my blog a secret).

I’ve read on many blogs that the key to blogging success is to only write for yourself, not your audience, and to write in your own voice.  I get torn between the voice in my head and the voice I speak with.  They really are very different.

When I was young, I learned the hard way that not everyone understood my voice.  It was scattered, stock-photo-22009197-crazy-woman-locked-in-the-cage-with-chains-iiloud, sometimes incoherent, often dark.  Even now, if I let too much of that seep into my daily interactions, I get looked at funny or get the “WTF??”, even from people I’m close to.

I realize that not everyone is going to understand me or where I’m speaking from.  They have not lived my life, they have not lived my experiences, they don’t know what it’s like to live inside my head (it’s often a scary place, even to me).  I realize that no one really knows me, even though they think they do.

Trapped inside the person everyone thinks they know is a very confused, troubled and often disturbed woman yanking at the chains that keep her bolted firmly to the floor.  She is my “true voice”, but I find myself filtering everything she says in an effort to at least have a few people in my life that don’t run screaming for the hills.

When I started this blog, it was with a few ideas in mind.  A place where one day my daughter and granddaughter might truly understand me in a way I could never show them or express to them.  Free therapy, cause let’s face it, that crazy woman in my head could get some good use out of having a voice somewhere in this world, and a place to chronicle my personal spiritual journey.

I have used this blog for none of those things other than as a place to say “guess what I did today” and a few Pagan posts.  I have not really written about myself.  I have not, until this morning, written in anything even resembling my inner voice.  I have not written about my past.

Dealing with that crazy woman in my head is the only way I will ever truly heal.  Everyone says “you need to deal with your issues about your Mom and find a way to let that go so you can heal”, and yes, I’m very fucked up because of my Mom, but what no one knows, what no one understands, is that I have a crazy person trapped in my head that is the end result of years of abuse, years of addiction, years of denial, years of repression.  THAT is what I truly need to deal with to heal.

Yes, my Mom was a very bad mother.  Yes, she hurt me in ways that still sting even though she died 3 years ago.  No, I haven’t really dealt with all of those issues, but in truth, my truth, she was one of many.  One in a list of people that abused me in some way.

Now, don’t go feeling all sorry for me.  I’m nobody’s victim and I don’t want to be treated like one.  Yes, I have suffered, but many other people have.  What I choose to focus on is that I survived.  I might not be the most stable person you’ll ever meet.  I have issues that I can’t get over with some things, but I’m still standing.  There’s a crazy woman in my head, but I control her, not the other way around.

I managed to see a child into adulthood, I’ve been married almost 20 years and am seeing myself move into the Crone phase of my life.  I’ve held jobs, run households and all the things you would expect from any woman.  I’ve survived unspeakable heartache in my life, but it all made me stronger in so many ways.

I do know, though, that the only way I will ever heal is to let the crazy woman in my head have a voice somewhere.  I will, one day, have to confront her and all her demons.  I will have to try to find the courage to one day let her out of her chains because that crazy woman living in my head is the real me.

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