Sharing isn’t always caring
I never thought much of the saying that sharing misery halves it. I don’t ‘feel better after unloading my burdens’. I don’t feel good about laying open my wounds to someone else. Yes, I blog in the open space about a lot of things that hurt me. But that to me, is akin to screaming out wordlessly to the open sky. It isn’t directed to a person, an identity that I know. I am not looking for a response or comfort or reassurance or solutions or advice. All I want is release.
For some odd reason it doesn’t work the other way, though. I am not averse to listening to other people’s problems. I am quite able and more than willing to offer comfort, reassurance or simply acceptance to those who need it from me.
But it isn’t a strict equation where I have to pay back in equal measure by talking about my problems, is it? Some animals retreat from their packs when they are injured. It prevents predators from scenting blood and attacking the rest of the pack. It is also an opportunity for the animal to quietly heal itself. That’s me. I know myself best. I heal myself best. And I really can’t help it if it makes other people feel unwanted.
If it makes sense I need the people I love to understand and accept me as I am, even the fact that I don’t share my complete self with them. I need it like I need air to breathe. That is the exact metaphor. I feel cornered and trapped when people try to weasel things out of me that I don’t want to share. If you care for me, for god’s sake don’t do that. It feels exactly like you are strangling me.