You've written Haiku and sonnets, right? Where you have to chose your words carefully so they fit the rules of structure? And then you get frustrated and switch to free form poems that occasionally rhyme and have no real meter, but you like the way the words go together?
In my house, there are three rules for my blog, as dictated by my spouse, that I struggle to write by:
1. Don't write about sex.
2. Don't write about money.
3. Don't write about him negatively.
These rules have been in place for years. They are why I post pictures of my kids and ramble about gay marriage. When I bump up against these rules, it causes friction like unto a rocket returning from space.
People say, "You need a private anonymous blog." But I'm an attention whore; I would tell people about it, then he would find it. Then ... friction.
I'm not the kind of wife who updates her facebook with, "I'm so grateful I married my best friend. He's an amazing dad. Today he made us the best food ever and cleaned out the garage." It's not because I'm not, he isn't, or he doesn't. I just don't want to jinx everything. I know too many couples who spout disgusting cuteness publicly and are awful to each other in real life. Or who used to be the cute spewers and are now divorced.
It's like having a "I love Jesus" bumper sticker. I love Jesus, I really do. But I do a lot of crap that makes Him probably less than happy with me and I'd rather not have the people I cut off while merging on to the highway think less of me or Him. They can be mad at me for being a jerk, but we don't need to drag Jesus, or my faith, or lack of driving skill, or hypocrisy into it.
I think that's how my husband feels about it. I am Mrs. B. ROTH. As in, the wife of Mr. Roth. So it is practically impossible to disassociate what ever insanity I blog from him. The problem is, he really cares about what people think about us, and him, and our kids. He doesn't want a random post I made on a crazy day to effect his future career. Or my kids'.
But I come at it from a different perspective. Nobody really cares. It's just one of a billion random rambley blogs on the internet. Not especially good or insightful. It's just my goofy brain writing out loud.
I might get a lecture about this post here.
Sheesh. It's got to pretty much suck to be married to me. I regularly feel sympathy for him: He's stuck with a spastic, erratic, crazy girl, who was raised by wolves, doesn't know her job, her place, doesn't act right. I am just me. Usually, I am happy about it, but when he points out how poorly my behavior reflects on him and the family ... I am crushed. Because he is right. Dancing and singing in public, random, excessive enthusiasm, etc. are embarrassing to the people around me. He is 100% right and I am out of place. But I don't know how to be otherwise and continue to thrive, y'know? And I feel wrong. Like down in my core ... I'm wrong.
I spent most of my adolescence covering up the truth of my existence. I worked hard to make it seem like I wasn't a poor, weird girl from a stinky house. I didn't confide in my closest friends. I was the happy, silly, crazy one. Nobody knows the troubles I've seen.
It's hard to be that way, to hold all the bad stuff in and exude joy. Some people learn how to talk about themselves, but I carry a lot of shame. I still have an impossibly hard time talking about my feelings. But I can write them. I can think, and edit, and analyze, and reread, and verify: Yes, these are the words that come close to expressing how I feel. And to blog ... to have those words out there, to testify truthfully to the moment; and to have others validate your feelings, saying, "I understand; you are not crazy." It gives me a glimmer of hope: Maybe I'm not wrong. Maybe, I'm just me.