Writing out your guts
You have felt this, the fear of exposing too much of yourself.
I panicked the first time I clicked the publish button. I knew that few people would read my words, but publishing requires bravery. Putting your words out to the public eyes is frightening.
Blogging on the edge embraces that fear and uses it to gain confidence and overcome obstacles. I first realized this when I wrote of my mother's death from breast cancer, 16 years after the fact. Through those years I wrestled with demons that I could not exorcise, after more than a decade.
I possessed painful experiences that were so close to where I bleed that I could not speak of them. Emotions ate at me through the years of silence - anger, terror, horror, and heart break.
I decided to write it out, to see what happened. I relived torturous memories that I had spoken of to no one, and I prepared to publish my tears for the world to see. Clicking the publish button on that story is one of the most terrifying things I have forced myself to do.
The fear that gives pause
Public speaking is most people's greatest fear, and public writing must rank up high on the list as well. The fear is primal, ancestral. We are afraid because:
The reasons for writing where it hurts
To write or speak, then, seems stupid and masochistic. But, the opposite is true. Through speaking and writing we grow and learn wisdom. Publishing our words:
Writing on the edge because you are human
Love, anger, pain, and embarrassment are feelings that make us unique as human beings. Talking and writing about them grounds us in what makes us perfectly flawed.
In writing about my mother, I made a powerful self-discovery about design, order, and the universe. I healed some deep wounds and helped others to see a side of another being's emotions.
My mother's cancer moved fast. There is a point at which the cancer reaches the brain and breaks it, damaging neural pathways, memories, thoughts, and speech.
I had no idea that this telephone conversation with mother would be our last words. At the time, I didn't think we were even communicating. I thought she was already gone, and the only sounds were moans and sighs.
I wanted to talk with her. I did. But she did not say anything in return. Until I finally said "goodbye." Then she spoke as if from death and said "bye." "Bye ... bye ... bye ... bye." Over and over she said bye.
I thought she was lost and I panicked. I was 23 and freaked out at my mother's voice and absence. I didn't know what to do.
I slowly hung up the phone and could still hear her.
I know now that she was aware that it was her final goodbye. I cut her off, and after processing the shock of the moment, I cried and felt a coward. I realized what she was saying to me. That this was the end.
In reflecting now, I realize that the conversation could not have ended any other way. I reframe that last click and silence as a moment most serene.
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Your thoughts, comments, and feelings would be appreciated.
By Darin L. Hammond
Writer for ZipMinis and owns ZipMinis Freelance Writing. Darin Publishes across the web on sites like Technorati, BC Blog, Blog Critics, Broowaha, Demand Media Studios, and Social Media Today. Google