I’m writing this post as part of the “Things I’m Afraid to Tell You” blog challenge from Ez of Creature Comforts. Inspired by this post from Jess Constable, it serves as a reminder that life isn’t always as picture-perfect as we may make it seem.
It’s not easy to write these things and I’m sure it’s going to be incredibly hard to actually hit the “publish” button. I’m fairly certain I’ll do a little freak-out dance, followed by a “WHAT DID I DOOOO?” Hopefully though, it can lead to bigger discussions, more open thoughts and posts, and less skimming of the surface with my writing.
Here are just a few of the things I hope I can be totally honest about:
I feel intense guilt sometimes that I don’t bring in much money.
Rob is definitely the bread-winner in our family, and he’s totally and completely amazing in that he never gives me a hard time about my meager income. He lets me do work that makes me happy and doesn’t ever ask me about how much I’m making. In return I try my best take care of everything around the house and to tell him often how much I appreciate all of the hard work he does every day.
But I feel so guilty sometimes that I won’t even buy a cup of coffee. Our joint account doesn’t feel like it’s “my” money, and even if I really need something as simple as socks or a cheap pair of jeans, I’ll check and make sure it’s “okay” for me to spend the money. Rob always tells me it’s fine and assures that I have no reason to ask him or feel guilty. I don’t know how to let go of the feelings that I have to take care of everything single thing at the house (groceries, cleaning, laundry) before I’ve earned the right to spend any kind of money on the things I personally need.
I have body issues.
I think this is a problem for most women I know, and men (although it seems not as many men are willing to talk about it). I’m always conscious about the fit of my clothes, and I worry about my weight. During my freshman year of college, I came home and my Dad poked my side and made a comment about how I’d gained weight. I wanted to burst into flames right then.
I am also very pale-skinned, and my whole life I’ve had people call me Casper and a ghost because I’m so pale. You won’t catch me in a pair of shorts to save my life, because I grew up being told my thighs were too big and too white. Seeing pictures of myself from 6th grade, I have no idea why anyone would have said that to me. But it stuck in my head, and when I put on a swimsuit and hear more comments about how I’m “so white!” it makes me want to don a burka.
My family jokes about it lot too, but it always stings, even though they say it with a smile and laugh. Why can’t I just be the color that I am? Is it really that horrible that I’m not some magazine-worthy bronzed beauty? I remember when my friend Amy told me that I had “the most beautiful porcelain skin”. It makes me cry even now to remember how she, for the first time ever, made me feel like it was okay.
I get very jealous of people who seem to find time to do everything they want to do.
People who get to travel, have kids, buy houses, sew awesome clothes, make crafts and post it all online like it’s no big deal. When I see someone who is able to sew a new garment every day or even every week, I wonder what the hell it is I’m doing with my time that I can’t seem to make that happen. I’m sure it means that they are giving up things, like date nights and days off to go to a giant tulip field, but it feels like they have some kind of intense time-alterating abilities that I was just not born with.
So those are just a few things on my mind that I’ve felt the need to acknowledge. Yes, there are more, and yes, I’ll probably write about them some day. But a girl can only share so much at once, you know?
If you are interested in this project and would like to see what other people are afraid to tell you, I’ll update this post with a list of links to other participants. You can also find the list on Ez’s blog post at, Creature Comforts.