Sometimes I think to myself...why do I feel the need to share my deepest feelings, my darkest thoughts, my heart...? There are times when I can feel the judgement from those around me. Why? Why do I choose to put my private life out there for the world to see? The funny thing about this...I didn't start questioning this until I blogged about non-cancer related topics. Why is it okay to blog about cancer but not about a failed marriage? Why is truth and vulnerability only okay if it's about illness? It's okay to blog about the fear of death brought on by cancer but not the fear of having my heart broken again after a failed marriage? I am black and white. Fear is fear and pain is pain. I have nothing to hide. I am imperfect. That's old news. I choose to continue on writing whatever is on my heart. I no longer care what people think. I guess walking around bald and with one boob...seeing strangers look at me with my four children noticing that I have no ring on my wedding finger...maybe these things have left me realizing that I just don't care anymore about the judgments of those around me. And most importantly...I believe that truth is the best medicine for my soul. I also believe that hiding the truth from my children will only do more harm than good.
I have a friend who recently started dating again after her divorce. She was telling me about this dating app she uses. She told me I should try it. I laughed. That is so not me...but then I started thinking about it. What I look like on paper...
35 years old. Four children. One real breast (but don't worry...in the process of finishing reconstruction of a new breast). Unemployed. Has completed some college (just the classes I found worthy of showing up for the final). Lives with parents.
I actually thought about creating a profile just for the sake of being able to laugh at how terrible it would look.
I guess I'm kinda hinting at the idea that putting my heart out there again is terrifying. My heart has been broken so many times...repeatedly by the same man. I'm afraid that I am damaged beyond repair. I am worried that my wounds are too deep. I am terrified that my scars are too hideous to allow me to be still lovable.