To be honest though, I don't do that nearly as often as I used to. In fact, it's a rare occurrence. And yesterday wasn't whining, at least not to me. It was sharing frustration and the reality of my life in that moment.
I am still surprised people take time to read these very personal thoughts. And more surprised when someone judges me on them. A few hundred words posted online is only a fraction of the picture, the life. They're a snapshot of time and emotion.
People tell me I share too much. And people share that my words resonate with them, that knowing someone else out there is struggling or questionning or celebrating helps in their journeys.
Who knows who's right.
What I know is this is who I am at the moment I'm writing. Real. Raw. Not censored. Pained, deep, proud, inspired. Hurt, confused, questioning, filled with joy. Grateful, pissed, ambivalent, surprised.
I can't imagine what I feel, what I experience to be all that different than most people. I just write about it. In writing I'm finding my voice. And am searching for my center, hoping to let go all sorts of baggage I've been carrying for too long.
I put myself out here and I suppose being judged is part of the package. Sometimes it's remarkably uncomfortable.
But it is what it is.