I don’t talk to people about my stuff. Oh I’ll talked about what happened all day long. I’ll give details about the color of his shirt or the sting of leather but when it comes to how I feel about stuff, I’d rather not. Painful subjects get a shrug, personal relationships get a roundabout answer. For the most part I’ve closed ranks and I’m finding I actually like it that way.
I recently gave a powerful secret that I would have liked to be kept private to someone I love. That person chose to divulge that private information at a family gathering. I should have known because it’s happened countless times before. I think because I’m finally at this place in my life I’m okay with keeping this person at arm’s length as well. Lesson finally learned.
So I’m closing ranks again. It feels good. The non-committal comment, the shrug, the roundabout answer. These are powerful tools for guarding my heart and protecting my sanity. I need all the help I can get to keep these walls up. Huh… Funny. People my age are attempting to take walls down and here I am just building mine. Maybe I’m a late bloomer?
My friend kept pushing for a more personal, private answer to his “how are you”s. I had one too many adult beverages and tipped my head back. I slowly unwound a personal tidbit about myself. He seemed satisfied and I was no worse for wear. But that’s all I give anymore.
“What was your fight with Emily about?” Parenting stuff.
“How was your weekend?”Fine.
“What did the doctor say?” I’m fine, everything is taken care of.
These walls serve a purpose. I’ve been burned by friendship and family more times than I can count. I’ve finally gotten to the place in my life where I don’t have to seek approval. The very select few that get all of my deep dark private personal stuff, the few that hold me when I cry, and hug me when I laugh, they are precious to me.
I like it this way.