I tend to censor myself, a lot, on this blog.
      I don’t know why – it certainly isn’t as if anyone reads it. At this point, I believe this personal little journal is as private as my old Snoopy diary with the twisty-lock ever was. Which, to be honest, is not very private… which defeats my metaphor…but… damn. What was the point?
      Oh yeah, censoring myself.
      Because there are things I don’t admit, even to myself, and there are things I wouldn’t say on the interwebs because future jobs, future relationships, current jobs, current relationships.
      After a bunch of shaming on Facebook, certain people taking umbrage with my use of f-bombs and other vulgarities, and after I valiantly said – screw you, I’ll talk how I want and I’ll choose to punctuate my own speech with those emphatic ‘sentence enhancers’ – I also stopped posting things.
      Why?
      Why do I care so much how people – friends, family, strangers on the internet – think of me? Do they believe I have such a small vocabulary that ‘fuck’ is the only one available to my teeny brain? Or is it enough that I place a personal, intrinsic value on words – even “bad” ones – and use them judiciously in my personal (and professional) work?
      I am a human being who cares how people see me. And yet, I frequently go to the store with a ball cap on, no make-up, über-casual clothing, no socks…
      My mother always told me that I represent the whole family when I leave the house. Mostly, that was a guilt-trip me into putting less holey jeans on before I left the house. Hah! But in a way it is true, isn’t it? People judge us, whether they mean to or not – so I suppose I just internalized that from a young age. I never learned how to express myself publically, fully. I just have to … censor some things.
      Everything.
      But rarely, oddly enough, my writing.
      Which is probably why I don’t want to share it as much as I should – people would then see all the ugliness and the beauty in my heart and in my head. It would be out there, for everyone to see and judge.
      I have to find a way to get over this habit, this fear, this need to keep my innerself hidden.
      The great ones always say that to be a successsful writer, you just have to open a vein and bleed onto the page. I think that is utterly true, and I think that lately, I have been too superficial, and too guarded in my writing.
      Opening up. That’s the next step.

Note: Image is “what not to do 1” by (StillSearc) from SXC.hu