I used to be a master at hiding myself. I had walls so high no one could ever hope to get in. It was safe, and it was lonely. It served me and the people I knew well.
When I first became a mom, I realized I was in way over my head. It was hard and lonely and boring and exhilarating and I felt like a failure because I wasn't like all the other moms who never had a moment of anything but bliss. It was a dark time. I didn't want my daughter to grow up and go through the same darkness if she became a mom. I started writing letters to her as she grew up about being her mom. It was hard to tell the truth because I didn't want her to ever feel for one second that I didn't love her more than anything in the world or feel like I didn't want her.
As she got older, I started keeping a blog because I was tired of pretending to be perfect. I wanted to be honest in my truth, even when it made me look whiny or bitter or stupid or any other label that kept me hidden with fear.
Sometimes it hits too close to home and hurts me or the people I love. I try not to share their truths, but only my own, but sometimes I fail and do damage I never meant to cause. Sometimes I keep too much of the truth out of my story to do any good. We are all fighting battles no one else knows while we pretend to be perfect.
It takes too much energy to pretend. I am the first person to admit that I am as imperfect as we come. I don't have all the answers. Most of the time I don't even have enough answers for me. I can't judge anyone else for being as human and fallible as I am.
My daughter gave me a card this week to thank me for being brave enough to tell the truth. She says it gives her the courage to not be perfect. We all need someone to show us we are not alone in being human.