On days when I lack inspiration, when writer’s block has taken over and the only issues left to write about are deeply personal, I find myself wondering how much of myself I’m willing to put on public display. This is my little corner of the internets, yes, but, seeing as strangers, neighbors, friends, future inhabitants of Camp Bondsteel, and family members read this, how much am I willing to admit about myself, my opinions and my personal life?
I hate to limit my topics, although, I admit, for several months I politely refrained from mentioning the events taking place in my personal life, the most dramatic of which was my divorce. But it’s out in the open now. I’ve publicly admitted that yes, at 23 I have in fact adopted a new identity: divorcée. I’ve admitted that, regardless of how much I hate it, this whole divorce thing has become a part of my new identity. It’s a different box to check now, I suppose. It was “single” first, then “married” for a brief amount of time, and now, “divorced.” It’s a part of me now and to not talk about it seems false.
Then there’s the flip side: to talk about it seems like too much honesty. To admit that I’m angry, that I harbor hatred regarding the situation seems like I’m saying too much. I fear coming off as the embittered ex-wife, mourning her failed relationship and bitching about her ex-husband. That’s not who I am or what I feel. I’m not mourning anything, nor am I upset about the failure of the relationship. My anger is much more complicated than that – it goes beyond petty failure and takes root in the immaturity and disrespectfulness of others. But, in writing, these things are hard to convey. My sarcasm regarding the matter could too easily be misconstrued as hurt, hostility and bitterness and that, perhaps more than the risk of being labeled the ultimate taboo, is what I fear most. I fear not being understood. I fear being immediately pegged as a bitter ex-wife, or worse, written off as a bundled mass of big mistakes.
Yes, it is a private ordeal. Yes, it is personal. Yes, it is a great big taboo. But, it’s my life regardless. It’s what happened. This is my life, for better or worse, these are my decisions, this is how it has all played out, and these are my mistakes. I’ve always gained acceptance through writing, but still, I wonder how far is too far? How much is too much? Is there really such a thing as too much honesty?