“Tread softly because you tread on my dreams”

Some of you may have noticed that I’m not exactly a prolific blogger. Part of this is because I don’t like to post unless I have something positive to say, so sometimes in tricky patches I don’t post anything rather than have a moan – at least until yesterday, when I tried to just spill out whatever I was thinking and feeling, like a proper warts n’all blogger (and man did it feel good to have a moan! – as soon as I finished writing I felt that it wasn’t such a bad day at all – how cathartic!) I’ll definitely be doing that again! Partly, I over think everything and each post comes slowly as a consequence, partly I just don’t have time. But mostly it’s because I do actually keep a good old-fashioned, hand-written diary which makes my blog a tiny bit redundant in the sense that blogging is surely meant to be just diary-keeping in an online form, no?

The trouble is – and yes, friends who know me as a compulsive over-sharer both on facebook and in real-life may scoff at this – I’m not brave enough to share the kind of things I put in my diary. Not because they’re embarrassing or anything to be ashamed of – totally the contrary, they’re mostly boring, but they’re really me at my most unarmed… my wishes and dreams… and I feel that sharing that makes you more vulnerable than sharing anything you’ve done or thought or said during the day with your kids, or mistakes you’ve made or stupid situations you’ve found yourself in, or when you have a great day or when you’re struggling. All this I share with abandon on social media and verbally with friends. I’m happy to share my views on God, religion, death and the Universe (unfinished and ever-changing as they are). I willingly post photos of myself looking horrifically tired, with blotchy skin or no make-up or with bad posture, or pulling an unflattering face because I like how my kids look in them or it captures a particular moment in time I’m proud of, I share embarrassingly intimate details about giving birth or breastfeeding or  silly misunderstandings I’ve had with my husband when we’re over tired! I’m always a bit game for looking bad in public if I think it will help another person feel comfortable, or better about themselves for example. I couldn’t be said to be vain in this respect, I really don’t think…

So why does sharing my hopes and dreams (and conversely, disappointments…) make me so squeamish?!

The thing is, I don’t actually use my diary as a diary in the journal sense of writing about my day. It really is just long, long lists of things I’m thankful for, things I already know will happen which I’m thankful for, and looking forward to, and things I wish for.

Along the lines of:

* I’m so thankful for my three amazing boys who I love more than the Universe…* and *I wish for a holiday in Italy with Remus, in one of the places we were on honeymoon, a whole week without the kids…*

There. That wasn’t so bad. What’s the big deal about that?

Well, I think it’s something to do with it all just being so upwardly hopeful and so damn positive. In the online world as much as in real life, where people seem to be rated for their opinions, their intellect, their knowledge of politics, their wit and sarcasm and ability to get a laugh online, to be wry, to win an argument, to seem clued-up and clever and better yet, funny with it… to just open your heart and show the part of yourself that is young, hopeful and ingenuous opens you up to ridicule or even worse, pity!

I think that’s what I’m afraid of…

But I really believe most people, when they drop their mask, their ego, their edge, right at the core of most humans, there is I believe a part that is hopeful, a little childish, a little naive, a wisher, a dreamer of good things. I think we all have this. And if we all shared it a little more openly we would all get along a little better and the world would be a different place. So to that end, I’m going to try to be brave and share here a little more of what I put in my diary…. Soon.. xx

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Yeats