A few weeks ago, I received an email regarding my blog — and me — and this post — that made me simultaneously:
It wasn’t “hate mail,” no, it was more like “concerned mail.” Concerned for my soul kinda, and for my life outlook, and in a nutshell? The email writer said…
“I really enjoy your sense of humor, but your continuous complaining and bitching and moaning is just unbearable to read, day in and day out.“
So. There was that.
Of course there was more. The whole email was crafted beautifully and out of concern for my soul as I mentioned, and not mean in the least. In fact, it was written from a place of light that informed me,
“Your voice comes from how you feel on the inside. And your insides, apparently, don’t feel very well. That’s okay. As a matter of fact it’s perfect. You’re expressing all of that internal rage and that’s better than not expressing it.”
Other paragraphs followed. A few more that made me put my hands over my eyes and read the rest of the correspondence through shuttered fingers. Because? I knew what the writer said was true.
I know, oh yes I do, that I am a snark. I am not happy with all things. I can be a bitch. BUT. But, but, but. See. There is so so so much more.
I get frustrated, so I write. I get angry, so I write. I get BESIDE MYSELF, so I write. And also and in addition, I get happy, and so I write. I am touched, and so I write. I love, and so I write. I write, I write, I write. Somedays there is rage. Other days, not. If you write often and if you let it all hang out in a public forum, those emotions will be given a voice. And people will read — and react.
Still and yet, I let what the emailer wrote consume me. I must be bad, terrible, horrible, in need of intervention. Surely I’m full of rage and venom and vitriol. There is no saving me. Good God woman! Don’t even try. (Because she tried.)
And I thought and I thought. I love lessons, as much as I hate them. I know there is a grain of truth, maybe a pound, in who people tell you you are, so listen. I winced at the email because it resonated, because I knew, I knew some of what she said was true as true as the day is long.
And some was untrue. The writer of the email had never spoken with me, gotten to know me, absorbed me in any way shape or form to know that I am not full of rage and a constant bitcher/moaner/complainer. And if I were? IF I WERE? I’m not saying it’s right, God knows, but I am ON MY OWN PATH, and I will COME TO KNOW THINGS when the mile markers present themselves, and I know in my deepest nucleus that I WANT TO BE BETTER and sometimes? I AM NOT and the people I surround myself with? Are the people who are traveling on paths too. And if you’ve already arrived at the end destination? That’s wonderful. Wave to me from the bleachers. But respect that everyone finishes at their own pace. I had a friend who summed it up once: “If you are already enlightened, light up others, don’t rub your light in another’s face so they can’t see.”
I’m not saying the emailer did that. How could I? I don’t know her. And if she’s on her path, she may be at the point where she is reaching out to help others best she knows how. THAT is lovely and fine. Still something pulled at me, so I forwarded the email to a few trusted friends. Honestly? I wanted to hear that I wasn’t so bad and that those who knew my soul — the deepest, darkest reaches — could confirm it wasn’t full of rage soot.
And on and on. But one friend in particular, a beautiful, angel friend with wise words always to say, told me: “Maybe the lesson of this email is for you to be sure in who you are.”
Words that struck a chord in me more resonant that the original email.
But I’ll have to tell you why later.
Right now? I’m still processing.