I’m still recovering from this virus, and though I thought I might be feeling better, the fact that I fell asleep on the couch when I was keen to watch the final of the US Open today, being woken only be the cheers announcing the winner, means I’m still not right. So I don’t have any great ideas about writing, or life without kids, right now.
Rather, I’ve been thinking about when not to write something. I was taught that if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all, so there are times on this blog (or in my virtual or real life) that I choose to keep quiet, even if I think that I have a wider knowledge and experience than someone who may disagree with me.
I remember clearly how I felt back when it was all new and raw (and I’d documented this at the time in case I might forget), and my writing today calls on how I felt at the time - my intense emotions and rationalisations, the overwhelming desire that coloured my thoughts and decisions and life, my need to protect myself and my husband, and my anger that someone might suggest I wasn’t thinking clearly. But today I also have the advantage of time, of hindsight, of understanding what was hurting me or many others across the world, of understanding what would help, of recognising what was and is logic and what was and is emotion, of sensitivity and hurt and sadness.
Sometimes, people aren’t ready to hear what they don’t know, and knowing better doesn’t mean pointing that out, but holding off. After all, I remind myself, I’m not in this to win arguments or be proven right, but hopefully to help someone who needs it on a day when they feel that the world is against them.