**Updated to add the link for the blog entry I wanted from the Divatologist's blog.**
The Divatologist, on occasion, will write a post that tells something of a story built from characters who are composites of the people she knows. To protect the innocent. To protect the guilty.
I'm not quite such a master of subtlety but I try.
However, after my rant the other night about selfish people, I've been a little nonplussed by the number of people who've sent me private notes over the last couple of days apologizing and/or asking if I was mad at them or, alternatively, thanking me for saying what was on their mind.
And I'm all like...I'm good but I ain't that good.
Look, most of you who know me in real life know (or should know), I am unable to hide most emotion. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I also don't spare the zen stick. When I'm tired? The zen stick turns into a velvet hammer even. I'm straight forward, I say what I think, I don't speak obliquely (although sometimes, in the blog, I have to be somewhat vague to protect the privacy of others). I try not to wordsmith. I try to remember to be gentle. I don't want to hurt anyone. In fact, to my detriment, I want to protect everyone.
And when it is about you? I let you know it.
I was angry the other night. Frustrated. Disappointed. Because I actually care and want everyone to get along and love each other and get what they want and be understanding and open and communicative. I want that from everyone! I know that's not realistic but I keep hoping that maybe, just maybe, I'll be surprised. As I was reminded today, "The road to hell is paved with Good Samaritans." Still...I hope.
But...it was more than that. That blog post? Was mostly about me. I don't often get angry. Healthy expression of anger was not a skill I was taught. So, when I feel angry, it gets directed inward and turns into the worst of the worst...self-loathing. Lex and I, we've been mucking about in some pretty intense areas of my experience over the last few weeks...trying to get at the root of why I'm triggering on ancient history.
I've never liked history.
As a consequence, I've been completely blocked from writing. I've been flat out afraid to write, to say anything at all, afraid of what would come out, afraid of who I might hurt (I don't want to hurt anyone). When I admitted that to him, this is what he had to say, "Jane? On a scale of 1-10, you've been through, at least, a 7. And you can continue to tell yourself it wasn't any big deal but it was. It really, truly was. So get mad! You have every right to be angry, to express that anger, no matter who it might hurt. You don't have to protect anyone who's hurt you. You don't owe them that. You owe it to yourself to be angry and to express it however you need to."
And all of a sudden, I had permission from the one person who actually could give me that validated permission to be angry...
And uh...I kinda ran with it, firing off at the most immediate source of anger in my present life. A simple text message: "As expected."
As I said though, I was quite surprised at the sheer number of people who felt like they'd done something wrong to upset me. To those people, I want you to know that it wasn't about you. And, if you feel like you've hurt/wronged/acted selfishly toward someone, to the extent that you'd reach out to me to say you're sorry, I'm not the one you ought to be apologizing to.
For those of you concerned that I'm expressing anger just because I never do? I want to ask you to just be glad for me. This is a really healthy thing and I feel stronger and better than I have in a really long time. Know that what I'm really angry about has absolutely nothing to do with present Jane.
I'm taking care of myself. And it really is good.