Recently else-net some folks were talking about the fact that getting into the nitty-gritty of their trauma just feels like rewounding.  It serves no purpose so they avoid doing it.  I immediately felt defensive.  I have been explicitly told by a therapist that I am damaging people by writing about what happened to me.  I only had one appointment with her.  Whereas it is good and healthy for me to journal about it… I shouldn’t inflict my trauma on anyone.  I am in fact abusing them.

Let’s uhhhh look at that for a minute.  If I sit in the privacy of my garage and write about things that happened to me as a child on the internet I am an abuser.  Even though no one (not even my husband) is compelled to read what I write?  If people are not interested or it is too intense, they stop reading.  Most of my closest friends can’t handle reading my blog and they are very frank about it.  Not only do they not want the intensity of the stories they can’t handle the volume of reading.  I’m uhm prolific.  That’s ok.

This kind of thing is a difference in philosophy.  In my opinion.  Now, I don’t have a degree to back me up on this topic (psychology) but it seems as though most of them are just making shit up.  I might as well do the same thing seeing as I’m only trying to make me happy.  My theory is: I feel better when I talk about the stuff from my childhood.  Not right away.  Not when I am doing it.  After every mad rush of writing I feel relieved.  I feel like I no longer have to carry the secret around any more.  It’s not a secret.  It’s just a story.  It’s a story that other people know now.  It’s a story I can look at and try to find value in as I go about my life.  It probably won’t have value to other people because their lives are different.

I’m not really writing for anyone else’s benefit though.  I write because I am compelled to.  I always have been.  I don’t think my approach is necessarily sane but I’m not sure you can call it insane exactly.  Well, I do the same thing over and over and I hope to keep getting the same reaction–self improvement.

I write because I want to.  It’s as simple as that.  I don’t think that means anyone else has to.  But I want to.  If you don’t like what I write, don’t read it.

Now if only I believed all this.