Signs and Wonders

This space used to be important. It was important to me to have a place to store my thoughts, feelings and struggles. It was meaningful to know that I could just write.

This little place that I carved out of the great expanse of the interwebs used to be a safe space, within which I could document things I wasn't able to communicate elsewhere.

I lead a rather lonely life. This place allowed me to develop friendships with people who really understood what it was like to feel the way I felt. My loneliness was quelled by the relationships I built here.

This place is not safe anymore. It has been taken from me by those who wish to collect evidence against me. Some of those people I barely know. And others are dear to me.

The words I wrote about my inner turmoil, the dissonance I felt between the cultural ideal of motherhood and my own experience, and especially those about my darkest depression are being judged and manipulated to paint a particular picture of me.

As a result I have been shut down. Silenced. Fearful of writing anything honest or meaningful.

I made a choice that, because it is not fully understood by many others, has burned bridges and broken ties. I made a choice that compels people to question me, judge me, even hate me.

The few people who know the entire story, however, feel differently. The people I trust, the few who still offer me a safe haven of compassion and understanding.

And so, I have waffled back and forth, back and forth. Do I continue to write with honesty, even about those feelings and thoughts that are not supposed to be brought to light? Or do I let myself be silenced?