Sometimes people ask me if I regret sharing things on this blog for the world to see. Regret my words, my choices, what I choose to share and what I choose to not share. Most days I don’t. I don’t regret it at all. This place has made my life richer, my story sweeter, my time better.
I share for selfish reasons (writing helps me think clearly), but also for other reasons. If my story makes someone else’s a little less difficult than what I’m doing is worth it. If my story, in all it’s beautiful mess, makes someone else feel less alone or weird, then it’s good. If my story makes you feel better about yourself or makes you laugh, then it’s worth it.
I don’t know if one day I’ll regret doing this. If sharing my family, my struggles, my fears will come back to bite me in the butt. I hope it doesn’t. I feel that my desire and gift for writing and creating is from God and I hope that I’m using it in a way that glorifies Him. Even in the shadows, if I’m not talking about my faith, God is still there. He’s the lens I see everything through and I hope that shows. So I put my trust in Him that this isn’t all for naught.
When I was little, like elementary-school little, I used to sneak into my mom and dad’s room and read my mom’s journals. It was completely inappropriate and a huge violation of her privacy, but I did it and I’m not proud of it. At the time though, I knew that something was wrong with her, there was this sadness that I couldn’t understand and so I thought her journals held all the answers. Most of what I read didn’t make sense to my little brain and most of it I don’t remember. But I remember parts. And I’m confident that if she had known she wasn’t alone, she could have been better, stronger, more confident in herself.
So maybe that’s my hope. That you know you’re not alone. Whether it’s because of your constantly messy house, that all your “fancy, dress-up clothes” come from Target, that you’re probably not that good of a mom on some days, or that you just feel that everyone does it better than you, please know that it’s probably not true. But even if it is, you’re loved and welcome here anyway.
When I think about hitting “Publish” on a post, I often wonder who will read it, will it matter, and what will come of it. And then I think about my daughters, years down the road, stumbling upon their mom’s blog and reading it. Knowing what it felt like to mother them, what I was afraid of, what I dreamed of doing, what I wore when they were four, and what things I was struggling with.
And I don’t think I’ll mind. They won’t have to sneak around to find my words and feel guilty for knowing them. We can have conversations and they can ask questions and have better lives than mine.
And then I’ll know for sure: no regrets.