Talking about it

When you're upset, shit goes down and such, everyone says they are there for you if you want to talk. It's a kindness of course. For many things; hard day at work, a breakup, bad news, then talking about it might be exactly what you need. Yet when you are having flashbacks from traumatic events there really isn't anything to talk about. To talk about it only exacerbates the feelings you are trying to control. Unless it's a controlled environment, such as with a therapist, talking about it can feel like pouring gasoline on the fire.

There is a second level to talking about it and that's when it involves the people supposedly closest to you. In explaining my past the selfishness, and abandonment, of my parents has to come out. I have found that in sharing this people want to express their rage and horror on my behalf at what went on. They then begin processing their own feelings on what I've told them, and their astonishment and words only make matters worse for me. Now I have to field their questions: "How could your father do that? What kind of mother would allow that? Why didn't they care about you?" When you've experienced a lifetime of shame and embarrassment for not having the supportive family system that you feel most people have, it's exhausting and defeating to hear the confirmations of just how bad it really was.

So except in my writing I don't talk about it. I allude to not having the same experiences others have but I don't share the graphic details. The worst question for me is one that most people consider a basic get to know you pleasantry, "Where did you grow up?". I hate this. I don't have a home town. We moved a lot. I'll say this and they won't let it die, "Well where did you go to high school?" I went to 3 high schools. I'm not from anywhere. One of the C-suite executives in my company asked this and I did my usual stammering and he said, "You should just make something up." It's good advice; just name some dumb town, smile and walk away. Yet being so truthful I can't do it. I'm sure this a large part of why I hate small talk.

Even as I share in my writing I find I'm being careful so as not to have to field some of the comments that may come out, or perhaps only my fear of them. I overshared this week, and with my goal of wanting to eventually publish a book, it was a good taste of "How much do you really want this? Can you even handle what might get said?". I'm looking inward and asking myself if I'm truly as strong as I believe myself to be.

But as of right now....I can't talk about it.