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I feel like I’ve lost a major coping mechanism in my life. Somewhere I could always feel better, more joyful, even when I was struggling. A place where I could pour my heart out, even if it felt like an insane thing to do, and I’d feel less alone. There is a saying, “I write because I don’t know how I feel until I read what I say (Flannery O’Connor).” This, my friends, is the crux of it all. I have to write. I am not a debater, or someone who skillfully wins arguments with flair and a smirk on my face. Nope, I mumble and second guess and question myself. I say things like, “You might be right” or “I believe you believe that.” I am not argumentative. I am not eager. It’s just not me.

However, I do have opinions. I have thoughts and feelings and grand ideas and silly ideas. I like to cultivate my questions until I’ve been over them a hundred times in my own head. Then I let it all pour out on a computer screen or in a notebook until my heart and head feel purged.

For the longest time, this place, this weird, strange land of the Internet, was where my thoughts landed. When my brain raced with excitement, I would write here. I’d share my fear with you and I felt immediately better. This is my home.

But lately, there have been things I just can’t write about. It’s too raw, too real and too f’ing scary, honestly. A few weeks ago, at my daughter’s school carnival, some sweet tween girls came up to me and said, excitedly “You’re Crazybananas!” They remembered me from a writing workshop I had done a few months back. “My aunt reads your blog, she loves it!”

There is something supremely strange and wonderful about knowing some girl’s aunt is reading your deepest mental musings. But it’s also terrifying. Because I can’t just put it out there anymore. There has to be some censorship, not only to protect myself, but my family. And that’s hard. Really, really hard. All of a sudden, my sacred place isn’t the same anymore. I cannot share my struggles, and so, instead, there is silence.

For a while I tried just posting photo shoots or sweet images of my blessed life, but then my computer went kaboom (something about not backing it up and not enough memory…whoops), and now I’m just sitting here. No images. No wise words. Just a blank screen and a blinking cursor.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Just know I miss you. I miss our talks, friends. I’m finding it hard to share about silly, trite things, when life is seemingly so complicated right now. But I still love my life. I love hats and Britney Spears and sales at H&M and Doctor Who and red lipstick. And maybe now that I’ve emptied this load in my brain, I can get back to some of the fun stuff. Because, you guys, life is actually really fun. Even when it seems like it isn’t. Actually, that’s probably when it’s the most amazing.