The other day my daughter came home and began talking to me about something I published on fb. I hadn’t discussed it with her…she learned it from a buddy at school whose parent had shared it.
I wasn’t upset at all, but I thought, “ooooh, moment of truth do I really want to expose so much of myself on social media? Including my blog? I mean, my kids are going to see this.”
I thought about it that evening. The answer came back loud and clear. YES.
First, I love me. I didn’t always. The teens and twenties don’t really lend themselves to self-romance, but the thirties…the thirties are good stuff! I love me, flaws and all. I’m not afraid to be flawed. I’m not afraid to be great (that one’s a sneaky one that we often don’t recognize). I’m not afraid to be authentic. I’m not afraid for my children to know me.
Well, okay, sometimes I fear these things, but I take a deep breath and push through it.
You see, I grew up in a bit of a dysfunctional household. Outside looking in? Single mom, happy, hard working, money expectedly tight.
In truth? My mom kept loads of secrets, including alcoholism, depression, and a dark childhood. The need to keep a perfect image kept her from getting help. Kept her from hearing someone else say, “oh ya, been there.” Kept her feeling alone. Kept her depressed.
I maintained her secrets. They weren’t mine to tell. But I have no interest in keeping any of my own. I see no shame in the events of life. Secrets breed shame. No, thank you.
When my mom died, I was left with a puzzle. Who was this woman? She kept so many things bottled up, mysteries abound.
When I die, my kids are going to know who their mom was. They MAY wish they knew less, lol, but eh, oh well. I figure if Madonna’s kids can survive a tell all, my kids can too.
Also, I just can’t spend time worrying about what will come of me being me. Being authentic. I suspect …GREATNESS. It feels pretty great anyway. And I highly recommend it.