Just because I write stories or blog, it doesn’t mean I want people poking around further in my private business. I understand that might be confusing because I’ve been blogging along for 12 or 13 years and shared some stuff that’s pretty deep and painful, and I’ve published some stuff here and there in other places too that was tough to write…and that’s all private stuff out of my head and heart that I’ve shared. Know that it stops there: that’s all I’m willing to share with the world, whatever I’ve typed up.
I had someone reach out to me this week that read my book. Hooray for the handful of people that read my book! This is someone that lives in NC, read the story about my biological father, realized they knew who it was and decided to followup with me. She had “more to the story” that she wanted to tell me.
Let me back up a little and say when I wrote that piece of “truth” for my “Truth and Fiction” minibook, I had met no one in my father’s family, none of my relatives or siblings from his side of the family. My story was MY truth, my experience growing up, my feelings.
I was fortunate enough to meet my paternal grandmother and my siblings this year, but it was after the book had been published. My grandmother shared some things that changed my perspective some, because of course I only knew one side of the story up until that point. She told me some things that eased the burden on my heart, and I was happy and grateful to meet my siblings at long last.
Earlier this week, this person that read my book offered to share with me further insight on why my father wasn’t in my life, offered to clear up misconceptions. I politely declined, and I will continue to politely decline such offers from strangers unless someone is a long lost biological relative of mine.
Here’s why I’m declining: even knowing now that my father did make some efforts to see me over the years, it doesn’t change my childhood. I still grew up without him, I grew up without my siblings and I grew up with some relatives by marriage that didn’t treat me like I belonged.
My paternal grandmother told me my father did try to reach out to me a few times, and that makes me happy, but it doesn’t change the past. I don’t need to rehash my childhood with strangers, even well-meaning ones, because it doesn’t change anything. I never had a birthday with my father, I never had a Christmas morning with my father and growing up knowing someone was deliberately not in my life, no matter the reason, screwed with my head a little. This isn’t a tantrum or a poor me story, it’s just the plain and simple fact that even new information can’t change the past.
Reaching out to me and offering details from 40 years ago just makes me super uncomfortable, and what I published in my book and what I will publish on my blog is all I’m willing to delve into with folks I don’t know. I tell my stories for my own benefit and because maybe someone out there can relate somehow, feel less alone…but like many people who write or draw or paint or otherwise share their deepest thoughts in a creative way, what we’ve put out there is scary enough, hard enough to share and that’s as deep into the water as we’re willing to wade at that point in time.
I am glad folks are reading my stories, and I do appreciate the effort someone made to reach out to me. There’s a line I have to draw between me and what I’m willing to share with the world, and I hope that makes sense, because it’s never my intent to hurt anyone else’s feelings. It’s my intent to protect my own feelings and this year has been full of challenges; I’ve waded about as deep into the waters of my soul as I can take without losing my mind. Just because I’m uncomfortable doesn’t mean that it was wrong to reach out to me, but yeah, I’m super uncomfortably freaked out with what I’ve already shared in 2013.
Thanks for reading.