It Takes Time

Posts I wrote long ago for Collecting Thoughts Press, where I published more than 400 essays (most of which were at least 1,000 words long), still have the power to surprise me. Back in early 2018, I wrote one I titled “Change Comes Slowly.” Man. If I had only known how close to the mark I was. I began the essay by ruminating on the power of silence, reminding readers of an earlier post in which I expressed that I felt I was being called to silence in some way. I then expanded on that notion like this:

I’m not sure I did an adequate job, or maybe I didn’t want to share too much. I’ve gotten that way, you know. I once wrote a poem about it, long ago, about keeping secrets and how my mother tried to tell me I should do it, but not in so many words. She used to tell me to stop telling people everything. Of course, when she gave me this good advice, I couldn’t be bothered to take it. I needed to be honest with people, to get close to them, and how would that happen if I was always monitoring my thoughts and giving away as little as possible?

Well, times have changed, and I learned the hard way that Mom was right. Now I do monitor my thoughts. I edit my words before I speak them and often leave things unsaid. It’s certainly not ideal, and I’d often like to go back to being the person I once was, but you can’t go home again. (Call it a cliché if you will, but that is a statement that is jam packed with truth.)

Who is the person I was once? Who am I now? I could give you a few labels: wife, mother, Catholic, homeschooler, but the labels tell too much and way too little. You might think that a blog would be the place to find the real me, but it isn’t exactly ideal. I edit my written words about as much as I edit my thoughts.

I’ve always prided myself on my ability to learn from my own mistakes and the mistakes of others, but I’m starting to wonder if I’ve given myself too much credit because when I look back over my life as objectively as possible, I realize that I have a tendency to fall into the same traps over and over. The biggest trap? Trying to be someone I think other people want me to be. I saw that on display in nearly every post I published at . . . [an older blog]. So, today, I deleted all of them.

The ironic thing is that most of the words over there weren’t mine. They were excerpts of things I’ve read. Why did I share them? Now, that’s the question, and it’s one I’m not especially inclined to answer because I don’t like the reasons. If I had gotten the message about silence that I’m getting now, it’s likely that none of those posts would have been there.

I find it fascinating, frustrating, and right in some way that the message keeps trying to get through, but I don’t hear it until I’m finally ready. The truth about myself was so often there, within my grasp, but I guess I was too busy holding onto what I thought was worthwhile to open my hands and reach out for something new and far more right.