Back to the journal
As a kid there was a tiny little me and she lived inside my belly and her name was Margaret. In my imagination I gave her an overstuffed armchair and a plush throw rug, a TV in the corner with all of the forbidden programming and a refrigerator full of candy and sugared soda. I talked to her daily, and I brought her my secrets like gifts in my grubby hands.
I never cried in front of other kids. I refused to show that weakness, to present as anything less than perfect. From the ages of six to about nine I had a group of friends who were a bit cruel, and since I was more than a bit sensitive I had plenty of emotion to quash. It became a full time job. Absorb the blows with a full-on grin intact. Blink rapidly or fake a cough or sneeze to keep the tears at bay. Hang tight until it’s finally time to run home, fall up those stairs on hands and knees, dive into my bedroom and emotionally vomit. Watch through bleary eyes the pink gauze of a curtain as it takes a sudden breath, then shudders still again in the vacuum of the slamming door.
Children grow into adults and imaginary friends shrink to nothingness. Maybe Margaret stomped off in a huff those years I discovered diary writing. Maybe she was absorbed in the contents of my stomach, obliterated by its acid. Perhaps she was drown with years of drink, or wasted away with her keeper during the time of starvation. Maybe she was crushed beneath the weight of her burden. All I know is she is no longer there, and I am a 33-year-old woman with a vacancy.
That doesn’t mean I ever stopped retreating inside myself, and I have never before seen it as a bad thing. I’ve nurtured it, maybe even fed it Little Shop of Horrors-style, a longing for solitude that came alive, grew larger than me; one that was rarely sated. But there are enough years under my belt now to warrant a loosening, my bloated belly of experience too swollen to ignore. I’m beginning to believe that I keep too much inside, and I’m starting to wonder if it will turn on me, consume me back, these words. All of this time I’ve seen my solitude as a coping mechanism, but now I see I haven’t been dealing at all. I’ve been procrastinating.
This is heavy on my mind now because I am sorting a few things out, and in the process it has been gently suggested to me by a friend that I have no outlet, that I never have. I thought it was writing, it should be writing, but between this blog and my deadlines I never just write, like my professional gardening friends who won’t touch dirt after hours. I see now that I must. I need to revisit those junior high and high school days when I wrote in my notebooks with abandon. I need to write volumes that no one but me will ever see, and that needs to be enough. It doesn’t have to take away from anything else I’m doing, it just needs to be a priority. A daily ritual.
I didn’t know. How could I have not known? The only thing I’ve known, and I’ve known it for a very long time, is that I am a secret keeper. I am wrapped as tightly as an onion and it would take years to peel my reluctant layers. I have to let things out. I have to put them on paper without fear, without a smidgen of self-consciousness. I don’t necessarily have to trust other human beings with the contents, but I have to trust the Universe. I have to trust that she will hold my gifts as gently as my own tired skeleton has all of these years, and I have to do it soon, now, before my ribs crack.
Jill says:
I internalize and keep too many things secret as well, and I’ve those secrets and feelings used as a weapon against me too many times to ever really feel comfortable letting them out too far.
August 26th, 2009 at 1:16 pm
Jett says:
E-mail forthcoming, as soon as I can get enough of a break between patients to let fly what I’ve been pondering on sending you for a few weeks now.
August 26th, 2009 at 1:21 pm
Dijea says:
I am a frightened little girl. I’m so insecure, I don’t look people in the eye when talking to them. Its so hard sometimes for me to deal with the outside world. I have other things that help me deal with stuff its hard though. Sometimes its just my iFriends.
BTW, my imaginary friend was a Tiger named Tony – but it was NOT the Frosted Flakes Tony.
August 26th, 2009 at 1:28 pm
Kat says:
I never cried, either. Still don’t, and it’s not a good thing.
August 26th, 2009 at 1:38 pm
Nicole says:
Only the crazed or truly brave ever embark on such a journey. I did it a few years ago and at first, I couldn’t do anything but chide myself for dredging up all of these old injuries, fears, nightmares.
But who the hell needs all that crap stuffed way down into your psyche? Not me. And not you.
So definitely, loosen the belt and let the repressed emotions and memories go where they may. You don’t need them weighing you down or acting as an unwanted buffer to all of the good feelings around you. Good luck!
August 26th, 2009 at 1:41 pm
Mr. Nuggets says:
“I don’t necessarily have to trust other human beings with the contents, but I have to trust the Universe. I have to trust that she will hold my gifts as gently as my own tired skeleton has all of these years, and I have to do it soon, now, before my ribs crack.”
Wonderful.
August 26th, 2009 at 1:43 pm
girlgriot says:
I, too, am a secret-keeper (though this is not always evident at the Grand Hall of Over-Sharing known as my blog) … I sometimes keep the secrets from myself, too. Not good.
Journals have been a good outlet for me, but I haven’t been very consistent in the past couple of years. Somehow I still feel over exposed on those pages. But writing that reminded me of my former student who filled notebook after notebook … and as each one was filled, she dropped them down the incinerator shute because what was on the pages wasn’t stuff she needed to read again, it was stuff she had needed to get out … and once it was out, she didn’t want anyone else seeing it. That always seemed so extreme to me, but maybe she had the right idea?
maggie, dammit Reply:
August 26th, 2009 at 1:50 pm
That’s my big fear, that one day my kids will read my words and be hurt. My friend has a designated journal-destroyer, a person who upon learning of her death is supposed to go into her house and get rid of her diaries. I like the incinerator idea in theory, but I don’t know if I could do it. Might feel a bit like burning books, you know?
GirlGriot Reply:
August 26th, 2009 at 8:24 pm
Oh, I know. I think that was part of my distress when I found out she was burning her journals!
I love the idea of a designated journal destroyer. A few years ago I was convinced that the surgery I was going to have was going to kill me. I was freaking out trying to decide how to get rid of all the things I wouldn’t want people to pick over and read through when they came to clean out my apartment. I finally talked about my (totally irrational) fear with my sister and she told me to put little post-its on anything I wanted destroyed and she’d sweep through my place before anyone else could and chuck everything. I didn’t do the post-it thing, but the idea of it calmed me almost completely. I think I’ll have to wrangle her into being my designated journal trasher now!
August 26th, 2009 at 1:48 pm
The Mister says:
I’m looking to fill a vacancy for a tiny person that would live in my belly and help absorb some of the futility and stupidity that I experience at work. Those who suffer motion sickness or have an aversion to Mountain Dew need not apply.
August 26th, 2009 at 2:08 pm
Grizzly Kitteh says:
I do the same thing and it is slowly driving me insane…
At work I let others dictate how to do my job, even though it’s my performance on the line… At home I don’t say the things that need to be said to my roommate, who treats me like a whipped husband even though I don’t get any of the benefits that come with being a husband… Between the time that my job demands and the time my fake wife demands, when I have time to hang out with friends I’m a broken shell of the person I used to be…
August 26th, 2009 at 2:12 pm
Frogdancer says:
A private blog is a godsend when things need to be expressed but are not for the General Public. Passwords mean that the family can’t accidentally stumble across the journal tucked under the mattress (or something… you know what I mean.)
Do it. Write. You’ll feel better.
August 26th, 2009 at 2:17 pm
Mojo,NC,USA says:
This is why I love dogs. I can tell Tonka anything anything and know he’ll take it to his grave. And before him was Bogart, or Rox-z or Fuzz or Mindy or… well you get the idea.
I know that girl falling up the stairs. I know her as well as I know myself. She’s like the kid sister I never had, and more like me than even she knows. More than even I know maybe.
Do what you need to sis. Purge it, flush it, siphon it, sweat it out, whatever you need to do, whatever works for you. But as the song says, “You keep carryin’ that anger, it’ll eat you up inside.” Ol’ Don didn’t mention all the other feelings that have the same kind of corrosive effect, but they all do. Even the ones we think of as “good”. Like oxygen in too high a concentration they become caustic, eroding the very thing they’re supposed to sustain.
Whatever it is you need to do, do it. And whatever I can do to help, you know I’m here for ya.
Much love girl.
August 26th, 2009 at 2:48 pm
IB says:
Maggie,
This 1 hits me right where I live. I too am a secret keeper. I have always held back some things: different secrets from different people, but always some thing. I write in little composition books and when they are filled I lug them around with me (there are 4 in my backpack right now) until I get so many I have to throw a couple out just to lighten the load. I’ve been doing it for years. It helps me immensely. Don’t tell anyone, OK?
IB
August 26th, 2009 at 4:26 pm
vodkamom says:
You and Schrek? The perfect couple? Who’d have thought.
August 26th, 2009 at 4:28 pm
vodkamom says:
wait, did I spell that right?? Shrek. i meant Shrek.
(And you know I loved this………right?)
August 26th, 2009 at 4:28 pm
Liz says:
What a timely post. Just last night, two of my friends and I had a conversation about how a person learns to take time for themselves, to check your temperature, congratulate yourself on your achievements (especially the little ones — the crossing off of tasks on a list), and to think about how you feel and what you can do to be less harsh on yourself. One friend has been in therapy for about a year, and in the process realized that she’d never taken any time like that for herself. No one ever told her she should. Now she wonders how to tell other people, how to tell college girls — already tethered to the treadmill of achievement and success by outwardly measurable markers — that they can’t sustain it if they don’t take that time to reflect.
August 26th, 2009 at 4:53 pm
Chris says:
Don’t be surprised if it’s not writing anymore. Phases, and whatnot. You may find your secrets coming out in gardening, or golf or baking. It’s not important (at least for me) that someone else sees them — only that I let them out. It seems to be important in my case to be creating, but that may just be me. And creating the perfect martini can be as therapeutic as the perfect story, as long as you hold your mouth right.
August 26th, 2009 at 5:36 pm
Arkie Mama says:
Maybe it’s because I write for a living, but I can’t rid myself of secrets through journaling. I have to speak them. Thankfully, I have one girlfriend I trust implicitly who is willing to listen. I know you’ll find your outlet soon. You can’t hoard those secrets forever. They damage the soul.
August 26th, 2009 at 5:50 pm
Eliza says:
I like it.
August 26th, 2009 at 6:21 pm
pamela ~ the dayton time says:
I truly hope that you find your wee Margaret, and that you discover the thing that is her big comfy chair. But I hope that you keep writing posts like this, because it’s free therapy for me.
xoxo
August 26th, 2009 at 6:46 pm
Corina @ Down to Earth Mama says:
Beautiful. I hope that you do find your outlet. This post hits home with me, and is inspiring me to write a few posts of my own. I censor myself far to often, and it has to stop. I know that I even censor myself in my journals, for fear of writing crap. Crap is exactly what I need to write, and it is fear that I need to let go. Thank you. Not that I needed it, but now I feel like I have permission.
August 26th, 2009 at 7:13 pm
tracey says:
Blogs start out as something for ourselves, and then become so public that they canNOT be for ourselves. At least, not completely.
Take care, hon.
August 26th, 2009 at 8:41 pm
racheld says:
Books give more than any other inanimate objects to our lives, and blank ones will absorb and hold anything we pour into them, like that Magic Hat and the pitcher of milk.
They’re never shocked, they don’t gasp or frown or judge or tell secrets or turn away in trembly-lip tears; they just take what we give and hold it in trust til we’re ready to read or share or burn the pages. They don’t take us for granted, they don’t take us because they have to. They just take us—as is.
Do it. Fill them. Write with green bile or blood or Etch-a-Sketch, but write it out. OUT.
August 26th, 2009 at 8:48 pm
Heather says:
I think you should do it.
August 26th, 2009 at 9:43 pm
A Free Man says:
I had cruel friends a bit later in life. So my little Chris inside stayed in tact a lot longer.
August 26th, 2009 at 10:19 pm
flutter says:
it only takes one sentence a day.
August 26th, 2009 at 10:36 pm
Laura says:
Ooh, a private journal is an EXCELLENT idea.
I recommend you ask Margaret a series of questions. I guarantee she will have answers for you.
You could also find a tree (and call it Margaret) and read the resulting written dialogue from the Q & A with M, as the insights she will help you with will be all the more resonant when you hear them with your own voice.
It will be painful. Unsilencing voices always is…..but you knew that. There will be anger…its sometimes hard to have it directed appropriately, and I’m sure you understand that sometimes it gets turned inwards, thats why it is helpful to speak it out loud, so it doesn’t rattle around inside and bruise you some more.
Hugs and courage, honey
August 27th, 2009 at 1:54 am
amy2boys says:
I’ve never journaled. I’ve bought pretty journals and written two entries and stopped. Blogging is the only thing I’ve stuck with. However, now I wonder if I could journal. The blog has taken on a certain focus – things I want to remember. The things I need to purge – do not have a place.
August 27th, 2009 at 6:54 am
mrschicken says:
Yes, keeping a diary and blogging are not the same. Not at all. I used to think my blog was my diary, but then the whole town figured out who I was.
Thank you for inspiring me to find a pretty little notebook that’s just for me.
August 27th, 2009 at 7:33 am
Postmarc says:
Oddly, I related to this with music. There are times when the house is empty, and I will sit down at the piano and play with reckless abandon, creating as I go along, and I do it for no other reason that my soul needs that outlet. I seek no audience, just the feeling afterwards that washes over my private moment.
Make that writing a priority. If it means a few more days between OFD posts, then we will treasure them even moreso. You already share with us more than one person could ever imagine; you deserve that private space.
August 27th, 2009 at 7:45 am
krista says:
thank you for reminding me.
seriously.
thank you.
i needed to read this today.
August 27th, 2009 at 8:03 am
Holly says:
I think everyone needs a creative outlet to express themselves, whether private or public, as an essential part of health. Often, it’s not the outlet you’ve had in the past. I’ve discovered this so often about myself and seen it in others. Sometimes, it’s the change of venue that allows something different to open — trying something new, obsessing on a new area of exploration, experimenting — that leads to that next space of forgiveness, recovery, or discovery.
Good for you for diving back in…
August 27th, 2009 at 8:47 am
ZDub says:
I think you rock.
August 27th, 2009 at 11:50 am
Ann says:
And is it a coincidence that you feel this little hole, as your children individuate more and more?
Oh, and Five starts kindergarten on Tuesday.
(elipse)
xoxoxo
August 27th, 2009 at 6:49 pm
Aunt Jenn says:
I was perfect too. For a really long time.
Even when I started to let my faults see the light of day, I was very careful about which faults. I still am.
Do what you need to.
August 27th, 2009 at 7:10 pm
coffeejitters says:
I’ve been meaning to get back to keeping a private journal as well, I’m much more sane when I do so. I’m just having trouble getting around to it. Blogging is nowhere near the same.
August 27th, 2009 at 8:20 pm
Boy Crazy says:
Maggie, I can’t rave loudly enough about keeping a journal. I have written a diary or journal since I could string words together on paper, and I still have all of them. (And I’m now 31.) When I started blogging a few months ago, I promised myself that I would continue to journal, because as someone accustomed to writing out and dissecting my secrets, I had to make sure I didn’t spill them out into the blogosphere by reflex.
A journal will be good for you. You need that safe place to put it all out there and break it apart, to come back to it when you’ve found yourself in the next phase so you can read your recent past with fresh eyes and get to know yourself better. And who knows how many ideas for your blog or your book or your other professional writing will spring from stream of consciousness journaling.
August 27th, 2009 at 8:51 pm
Missives From Suburbia says:
Crap, Maggie. That one touched a nerve. I don’t even trust a journal enough to hold my secrets without mocking me. Perhaps it’s time I find an outlet.
August 28th, 2009 at 6:46 pm
Elisa says:
Secrets leave an uncomfortable, hevy feeling. I hate having secrets. I need at least ONE person I can share them with. Maybe the person changes depending on the secret, but still, one person is enough. I personally don’t trust journals, someone always ends up reading them. But maybe a closed blog? One only you have access to?
August 29th, 2009 at 1:04 am
Hip Mom's Guide says:
I kept journals right up until I became completely and thoroughly overwhelmed by caring for my first 7 pound 8 ounce bundle of joy. Seems like most people go the other way: the keep journals to track the life of their kids. My kids will have to settle for photos!
Once the baby got older and I started writing as a career, keeping a journal just wasn’t the same. I think everyone here is onto something: find whatever works for you and do it.
Good luck.
August 29th, 2009 at 9:20 am
Fran says:
Somehow I can imagine that writers are the world’s little Margarets. It’s so much easier to let someone else feel and express the pain and sorrow that are natural forces in our lives.
I’ve started/stopped journaling repeatedly throughout my life. Fortunately I’m back into scribbling my thoughts. Fortunate because Twitter, Facebook and blogs are all read by family and co-workers. Fortunate because I’m yearning with the aspirations of my youth, dreaming of a career as a writer. A career transition of this sort is best kept to myself. {ahem} I’m sure no one here would spill the beans so my secret is still safe.
August 29th, 2009 at 2:30 pm
Gwen says:
Oh, see, I thought this is what e-mails were for. Because then you have some outlet, but you can’t allow yourself to wallow too much (which is what I tend to do in journals, if the contents of the ones I’ve kept are any indication).
August 30th, 2009 at 9:46 am
Jennifer H says:
We are similar creatures, my friend.
August 30th, 2009 at 11:23 am
Braja says:
Oh, she’ll ALWAYS do that, Maggie….always hold things gently….
September 1st, 2009 at 5:22 am
fancy feet says:
I see you’ve been blogging as much as I have.
I hope you find your outlet. I would imagine it will feel foreign to let out as much as you take in, but I hope you find a resting place for your secrets.
Take care, friend.
September 1st, 2009 at 5:05 pm
Miss Britt says:
I’m doing the exact same thing right now, actually.
September 2nd, 2009 at 10:35 am
starrlife says:
I relate to this post so much. I used to be the great vault of secrets and half truths. I thought I’d given it up and recently realized that I just packed them away from even my own sight! This really creates some blind spots and residue build up. I can feel the storms coming but I don’t know where they begin sometimes.
September 2nd, 2009 at 7:01 pm
tysdaddy says:
“All of this time I’ve seen my solitude as a coping mechanism, but now I see I haven’t been dealing at all. I’ve been procrastinating.”
Same boat, different river.
I was cleaning off a bookshelf the other day and stumbled upon some old journals I kept, dating back to the Reagan years. Scary stuff. But me . . .
September 3rd, 2009 at 5:53 am
Okay, Fine, Dammit » Evolution of a Blogger says:
[...] need to quantify it: I have been away from home 34 of the last 52 days. I have scribbled in that aforementioned journal and I have practiced my free writing but more than that I have listed things, weighed things, [...]
September 4th, 2009 at 7:55 am