How to decide how much to reveal about yourself
People ask me all the time how I can be so honest about my life in my blog. They want to know how I can write about marriage, sex, abortions, or running out of money over and over again. It's an endless list really, of the stuff I write about that people can’t believe I'm writing about.
But each of you has a list of things in your life similar to that, it’s just a list you don't want to talk about. I'm not special—I don't have more stuff that is difficult to talk about. I just have more difficulty not talking about difficult stuff.
This is why.
I’m going to start by telling you that I was at the World Trade Center when it fell. I was in a post-traumatic stress support group afterward. People were divided into groups of ten based on their experience at the site—how bad things were for you that day. I was in a group comprised mostly of people who narrowly escaped the building before it fell and, as they were running out of the building, were splattered by body parts from people who were jumping out of the building.
We had individual therapy as well. Here's what my therapist said to me: “Your childhood was so terrible that your experience at the World Trade Center was nothing compared to what you experienced as a kid. Your post-traumatic stress therapy needs to focus on your childhood.”
That was the first time I really had a sense of how bad my childhood had been. I knew everyone in the world thought things at the World Trade Center were terrible. So this must mean that my childhood was really terrible.
I was 34.
When I was five, I knew something was not right. That's when I started therapy. I was never totally sure why my parents were sending me.
When I was seven I knew something was not right because the neighbor came over to our house when my parents were smashing picture frames over each others' head. The neighbor said to me and my little brother, “Come with me.”
Then my memories get blurry. The next thing I remember is my high school homeroom teacher. I skipped a day of school and then came to school with a black eye and a note from my dad that said I had been sick. She said that she was not accepting notes from my dad anymore. She said I could not come back to school the next time I miss a day unless I called the police.
I don't remember what I thought when she said that. Except that I thought, “Does she know what's going on at my house? How does she know? I never told her anything.”
I remember the next time my dad beat me up though. I called the police and they came. Like always. And my dad said nothing was wrong. Like always. And then the police started to leave. Like always.
But then I said, “Hold it. Wait. My teacher won't let me back in school unless I get a note from you that says I called you.”
I don't remember what else happened. I remember the police asking me if I want to leave. I remember my mom saying, “Yes. Please. Take her away. Please.”
I went to my grandma's to live. I spent all of high school living at my grandma's. The school social worker spent the rest of high school trying to convince me that my parents did something wrong. My grandma spent the rest of high school telling me that my parents were completely irresponsible. Except at family gatherings. When my parents were there, with my three brothers, and everyone pretended that everything was normal and that I did not live at my grandma's.
I don't remember very much. I went to college and spent my time trying to sort things out: abusive boyfriends, bulimia, anti-depressants, and cutting. Getting nearly straight-A's for a lot of the time. I sorted very little out.
I went to a mental ward the summer of my senior year. My parents visited me. They told me they were happy I was in the mental ward. My extended family visited me and they did not mention my parents. No one talked about why I might be there. My parents were anxious and loud in the family meetings: Begging the doctors to keep me from going back to their house. But even the doctors could not quite figure out why I was there: I worked on my senior thesis, I was a model patient, and I started dating a doctor right after that.
After I graduated, I moved back to Chicago, where he lived and so did my parents. I couldn't figure out how to support myself and there were so many opportunities for me to try nude modeling jobs. The doctor thought it was ridiculous. He thought I was too uptight to model. I said I probably was, but I wanted to try because it was such good money. I said they first test you out in a swimsuit.
He said, “Don't you need some sample photos?”
I said, “Yeah. I have some,” and I pulled them out of my bag.
The doctor looked. He smiled. He said, “Who took them?”
I said, “My dad.”
The doctor flipped. He went nuts. He couldn't believe it.
I was mostly surprised. I had no idea that my dad taking the photos was weird.
That I didn't know it was weird made the doctor even more upset. I remember trying to figure out why I thought it was okay. Or why he thought it was not okay.
I was 22.
I didn't tell anyone about the pictures. I started having nightmares about having sex with my parents. I started not being able to sleep. I didn't tell anyone though. Because I thought I was crazy.
Then my dad visited me a few years later, when I lived in Los Angeles. He wanted to go camping. I went. I was so nervous about being alone with him that I read almost all of One Hundred Years of Solitude before I went into the tent.
Then he took off his clothes, down to his underwear, and snuggled up next to me, with his arms around me and his penis up against my back.
Then I knew.
Or I thought I knew.
I slept outside the tent. I didn't talk the rest of the time. I don't think he even noticed.
I know the street in Los Angeles we were parked on when I finally asked, “Dad, did you do sexually inappropriate things with me when I was younger?”
He said, “Yes.”
I had no memory of what, exactly, he did. I still have no memory of it. And I was scared to ask him more. I asked my mom the same question. She gave me the same answer.
Both parents have said they were sorry. But that is not my point. My point is that my childhood was ruined by secrets.
In hindsight, so many people kept the secret: my family, the police, teachers before my freshman year. Decades later, when I asked my high school friends what they thought of me in high school, two of them told me that everyone thought I was nuts coming to school beaten up so often.
I'm not kidding when I say that I thought I was keeping that a secret.
So what I'm telling you here is that I'm scared of secrets. I'm more scared of keeping things a secret than I am of letting people know that I'm having trouble. People can't believe how I'm willing to write about my life here. But what I can't believe is how much better my life could have been if it had not been full of secrets.
So today, when I have a natural instinct to keep something a secret, I think to myself, “Why? Why don't I want people to know?” Because if I am living an honest life, and my eyes are open, and I'm trying my hardest to be good and kind, then anything I'm doing is fine to tell people.
That's why I can write about what I write about on this blog.
And when you think you cannot tell someone something about yourself, ask yourself, “Really, why not?”
Penelope, do you realize that Jesus said something very similar to your message at the end of your post?
“And this is the judgement, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”
-John 3:19-21
Hi Penelope
I read about your your blog form David Rendall’s Freak Factor. It is amazing that you are so transparent.
Joseph
as did I – thanks David
Penelope, since I started reading your blg, I’ve wondered why I’m impressed by you and what you write. After reading this entry,I know.
I’m blown away by your honesty. Any time I thought to make a judgement on your life or choices has been reconsidered in light of this post. I hope I can do this with everyone I meet — I’ll have to remember that we all walk in our own shoes and many of us are actually trying to do better every day. I wish you the very best of luck with everything you do and I’ll be looking forward to your next post and the one after that, and the one after that.
Well. I was going to try to write something profound, but there’s really nothing else to say, is there? I hope all is as good as it can be. Thanks.
This is why I read this blog.
Ok, this might be over the top, but…. I’ve read your blog over the last year because of posts like this. Somehow, you manage to take all your frayed edges, hang them out there, and spin them into these humane meditations. Though I started reading you for career advice, I keep coming back because your blog reminds me of who I want to be as a person.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for your honesty. I suffered, too, and became a counselor to help others. Now I want to write like you did about secrets kept, telling them, and getting freedom.
You have been through so much pain and hurt. Look how you have inspired over 225 people who have written to encourage and thank you.
You are amazing. Keep writing. Keep healing.
Penelope’s post here made me take a step back and revisit the concept of ‘online transparency’ and how revealing personal details of your life in your online writing can either help or harm you. Penelope, while all of us may not agree with everything you have to say, I don’t think that’s ever been your intent. Rather, it’s about speaking your mind, not holding anything back, and letting people interpret it (for better or worse) in their own way.
Your ‘reveal all’ method is rare in the blogging world. It’s interesting to me that so many hold themselves back and are ‘afraid’ (for lack of a better term) of the consequences being TOO transparent can bring.
I posted a ‘mini-podcast’ response discussing this issue and would love for all of you to share your own experiences. Penelope, kudos for the inspiration once again. http://www.lifewithoutpants.com/podcast/how-transparent-are-you-online/
Thanks for sharing your story. This was very powerful and you have my highest respect. lil
I sit here crying as I read your story. I can not believe someone so talented has had to suffer so much. Thank you for sharing and please continue to write and inspire.
PS
Your Dad needs to be jailed and counciled – god forbid he do something disgusting and evil to a new generation of bright little girls – he needs help sadly more than you ever will because you are strong and clear-mined – you keep writing and inspiring.
Penelope,
You are even more amazing than I can imagine. Thank you for shining your light into my darkness.
JC
I feel as I know you personally. I too, was a victim of sexual abuse as a child, although my mind has let me forget alot, I wish I could open up as you have. I admire you 110%!
I hope your life is a happy one now.You certainly deserve it.I hope you spend the rest of your life in peace and happiness.
And again, I feel better when I read your blog. I am and am not crazy it seems.
I love that you wrote “I just have more difficulty not talking about difficult stuff.” Until today, I don’t think I could sum up why I am so honest with people but this is a great explanation. Thanks – J in Seattle
Penelope, my heart goes out to you. Everyone deserves to have a happy and healthy childhood, yet it is far too often not the case. I really enjoy your blog and have been reading for quite some time.
You should be proud of yourself for the person you are today. You are extraordinary.
Wow. This article could not have come to me in a better time. I've recently come to the realization that I too went through some serious hardships at the age of five. I unknowingly blocked them out. These past experiences have impacted the quality of my life and romantic relationships. Recently, my instincts have told me to open up but I worry about lingering on the negative. Moving on is important. I now think it's healthy to address old issues but convey it in a positive, productive and thoughtful manner. Thanks for your validation Penelope.
I had shivers running up my spine as I finished reading this. You’ve alluded to your unhappy childhood before, but I had no idea it was that bad. You seem to have overcome it to an amazing extent, which is quite inspirational, which is not to say you don’t have emotional baggage (as everyone does).
I agree with Tiffany above who says that sharing everything with strangers is not necessary to leading an honest and secret-free life. Not everyone would opt for such publicity and that’s okay too. That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with your decision to be open about your life – clearly you get something out of the sharing, and hopefully your readers do too. I know I do – that’s why you are one of my favourites in my RSS feed.
Everyone has a story of what makes them who they are. I tell that to my wife all the time. I’m not surprised by your story at all, this stuff happens in America (and the world) every day.
I was glad to find your blog recently, you talk about things in the open that people are so skiddish to talk about. And the commentors who have berrated you on the posts about sex, abortion, etc, need someone to teach them that their small world view, “conservative” opinions based on zero personal experience, and a boring safe life not in tune with the real world. (I also find it funny how they keep coming back to read more…) You are writing about the human condition, not the fiction we’re fed from television, magazines, and the MSM. Thank you for that.
For all the posters who are surprised, I’d be willing to put money on the fact that you know someone right now who has had this happen to them or it is happening to right now. Hopefully you will be more vigilant now and into the future when those people silently cry and pray for help. Be their silent angel (like P’s teacher) and help push them out of those situations if you can.
On another note, I am sorry this happened to you. The good thing is you are still alive to tell the story some children are not so lucky. I find nothing more disgusting then irresponsible adults feel the need to take their personal power issues out on children and/or spouses. But then I remember that I need to take the angry energy of my judgement and flip it into the positive giving my child the gift of a childhood without the horrors you endured.
If only many “good” parents were open minded enough to pass this story on to their children (of appropirate age) so that they understand that the world is not always roses and rainbows. I’ve come to believe it is the mission of those of us who had/have decent childhoods to help those who did/do not. You can’t change the past, but you can help make the future better. “A rising tide lifts all boats.”
Keep up the great work – your insights are refreshing!
PT – I periodically am in the Middleton area, if I see you in a coffee shop or elsewhere, would you mind if I gave you a big hug?
Mickey
Thank you for sharing your strength, courage, honesty and vulnerability.
“I'm more scared of keeping things a secret than I am of letting people know that I'm having trouble.”
Brilliantly said Penelope. And if more people felt that way, perhaps we’d have less madness in the world that comes from folks surpressing everything.
Penelope, you and I have A LOT in common and I truly appreciate your candor and willingness to share your personal experiences in such a public way.
What you (and I) experienced in our childhoods is something MOST people would think needs to be kept secret, never discussed, written about for anyone to ever read or know about. Secrets hurt US, you and I and every other victim of sexual abuse, physical abuse or what have you.
TELLING about the abuse from a personal perspective means the victim TAKES THEIR POWER BACK, which is most often stolen from child victims. GOOD FOR YOU FOR TELLING! No more secrets!
You are awesome.
“If you knew the secret history of those you would like to punish, you would find a sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all your hostility.” –H.W. Longfellow
Thank you for writing this. I’ve believed all my life that secrets were dangerous. It makes me feel ill if I have one, and wary if someone else is revealed to have one. Having amnesia about my family life prior to age 8 has something to do with it, and a rape when I was 16. When, in my 30s, I asked my shrink if he thought I had PTDS he laughed, and said I’d had it in spades for years. I didn’t know–I was just trying to survive, when I wasn’t busy trying to rewind myself back to zero. Luckily, at the end of my 40s I can actually try to live and thrive, and not just survive. Being a parent helps a lot. It sounds like you are trying to do the same. Thanks for your posts.
Kudos to you again. The older I get, the more stories like yours I hear, and it amazes me that so many people keep these secrets. I wonder what our world would be like if people would share more, and stand up for other people, especially children, more often? I would like to live in that world!
Waited a day to comment, hoping I’d have something intelligent to add to the conversation. 24 hours later, I still have no words. *hugs*
Dear Penelope,
I loved this article because I can relate. Most of my friends & family have no clue nor has any desire to understand about PTSD. For so long, I lived in shame but you made me think twice about my shame. Right now, I wish I could give you a huge hug! Thank you so much for sharing your experiences. It meant a lot to me. I recently found your blogg and I’m already a huge fan of yours. Keep them coming! You are a very talented writer and I love your honesty that people lack in NYC. Sorry, but some people in NYC are very guarded about their personal life & I lived here all my life.
When I read your article, I almost cried. It moved me.
Best Wishes,
Dani
Thank you so much for having the courage to share from the heart. I’ve just recently jumped in to the online world with both feet. I heard of you initially through a teleclass giving you as an example of a good blog to read. I bookmarked it. Just now, someone I follow tweeted about your post on Twitter along the lines of “sharing too much or not – what do you think?” I knew I needed to read the post. I’m a big believer in the “you’re only as sick as your secrets” idea, and I tend to share more, more readily than many. You have raised the bar for me, and I am so grateful for that. I have just started a blog called Get Real Change, and your post is the perfect example of what I’m talking about. Basically, the more “real” I have become willing to be, the more I have changed for the better.
Thank you for being you as you are. You are now my official role model, even though I’m old enough to be your mother.
A fellow traveler on your path
I think you just inspired me to step up more, and be willing to reveal my truth. Blessings…
Brava.
Thank you.
I am so sorry this ever had to happen to you. You are an amazing woman and I am inspired by the courage you have today.
Thank you Penelope for your sincere vulnerability.
Wow, I have never commented here before, but I just wanted you to know how incredible I think you are. Unbelievably beautiful and amazing. I hope you keep listening to your own heart and telling your truth. Thank you.
People are calling you brave here, but I think that your openness here is the best thing -maybe at this point the only think you can do. It was a misplaced sense of bravery that kept you quiet about all of this crap that was done, and allowed to be done, to you.
As a member of the society that let you down back then I am sorry. For the society that needs you now I say you have a rare insight into a hell others are living through even now. Maybe there is a way you can reach out to them…
Wish I could get your message of survival to all the hurting kids in the world who are being failed by their parents,social services, and society. Glad you made it and are here to tell the story…
Thank you so much for sharing this. I’m truly moved and inspired by your openness.
I already posted but wanted to say something more.
My bestfriend’s father died this week. He was buried this morning. I sat opposite her now widowed mother in the church, longing to have a mother like her, even a grief-striken one. I watched her weep and thought of the secrets in my own life.
My own mother died thirteen years ago. I was 20. And today I asked myself, “When my mother drowned herself that Friday afternoon, why did I tell myself it was just the way life was?”
I cried for my bestfriend and her family’s loss today but I also cried for the twenty year old me who thought it “somewhat normal” when her mother cycled to the beach and walked into the sea.
My life is now full of love, honesty and friendship and for these three reasons, as well as my beloved in-built bullshit detector, my self-made future is brighter than ever.
Thank you for confirming I’ve been moving in the right direction. You are beyond description.
PT… been reading you for a long time. My first thought is… this explains so much, why now? What happened that you wanted to tell us now? I have a lump in my throat and feel nearly sick. I have an 11-year-old son and the thought of anyone hurting him makes me insane. I would consider killing any person that hurt him. I mean that. Your mother should have protected you. I am glad about your grandmother because maybe she helped you, yes? So messed up and I know it happens. But, all kinds of stuff happens, which is exactly the point of your blog. Thank you for the post. It was also a beautifully written, perfectly executed, gripping, chilling tale.
Penelope,
You’re immensely brave and resilient – and I don’t have words to express.
You choose to call yourself brazen – but now with this post, I realise that it’s an inadequate word to describe your attitude.
Penelope, You are awesome, an adjective I only use justifiably.
You make so much make so much sense so often.
Thank you.
Love, Jay
My childhood was also very scary, chaotic & abusive. My mother had a severe mental illness & committed suicide when I was 15 & I was relieved she had finally succeeded after so many attempts & trips to the mental hospital (treatment back then was not very successful). Father was a functioning alcoholic who did not protect us.
I’m 55 & have had terrible problems w/depression (suicide attempts starting at 15; last one 3 years ago) & have been dxed w/the same mental illness as my mother.
I just have terrible emotional dysregulation & am in therapy, but I isolate myself as I reveal too much at inappropriate times. I can be in a social situation & someone will mention a topic or ask how I am & I will do what I call my “blurt outs” where I TELL THE TRUTH & it is awfully embarrassing when they stare in silence & don’t know what to say. It’s not appropriate & then I never want to see these people again (they probably feel the same about me).
In group therapy (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) is the only place I can be honest as the other women have had awful childhoods, too, so it is not such a shock.
Reading your factual delivery of the abuse that occurred reminded me of when I first started therapy & would just recite the facts like I was telling what to buy at the grocery store. I only remember things like “snapshots”, but there is the time my mother did this or my father did that (bad stuff) & I had no emotion about it at all. But I would over-react to OTHER things in my life that did not call for that kind of reaction. I’m realizing that I’m exhibiting the emotions that fit the truth of my childhood, but not my life now. Through DBT I’m learning new coping skills so that I hopefully won’t have to hide for the rest of my life for fear of what I will “blurt out.” Therapy is the appropriate place for me to talk about these subjects.
When I talked to my husband, I would often get “triggered” into intense sadness (such as when I did my latest suicide attempt) & now I’m finally realizing I’m not talking to my HUSBAND, I’m talking to my FATHER–which, of course, I never could. I apologized to my husband. Poor guy was walking on egg shells around me. He didn’t know what would set me off.
I think since you have received so many positive remarks about your article that it must have been an appropriate one. I admire your incredible success in life despite your background. I have not fared so well. I’m not strong. I admire you very much & I, too, cried when reading the article & felt physically sick. I don’t understand how people can be so messed up to do those kinds of things. At least my mother was mentally ill & was not thinking right. She did not purposefully set out to hurt us.
I hope no one hurts you again, but I know that is too much to ask for. I wondered if there was an amount of pain one has in life & then you have had your “share” & you won’t have any more. That everyone has to have their “share.” I thought maybe I had paid my dues of pain in my childhood. I’ve learned that is not the case; life certainly isn’t fair.
All my best to you as you continue to heal.
Penelope, thank you for sharing so openly about your painful past. Your courage to do so and desire to help others considering what you’ve been thru is very admirable! Thank you for being willing to put it all on the line. I hope much good will come to many because of it. :)
Wow, I think this is exactly what I needed to read after finding out about even more of my own family’s secrets yesterday. Thank you for sharing this and being an inspiration to the rest of us.
Many years ago all I thought about was killing myself. I’m not even sure why; my childhood wasn’t horrible by an means. I think it was something in my DNA. Then I started to meditate (TM) and gradually the negativity about myself started to fall away. It was being replaced by positivity. It was a real experience, not mood making.
I was raised in a Jewish household, but for many years have wished that I could confess to a priest and let him take on my angst. It would seem your blog serves a similar purpose.
God bless you.
Wow. Wow. Wow. Your parents need to be put in prison. And it makes sense to me why you blog the way you do – it’s your therapy. Your coping mechanism. And you deserve it. Thank you for sharing.
Penny,
As always, your most personal work is your most intriguing. But doesn’t this make you more vulnerable? Or at least feel that way?
I started to cry reading this post and then cried some more when I read the comments. I am so grateful that you shared this. I am also sorry you had these terrible experiences. I always looked up to you before but now you are my absolute hero.
How do you handle writing about this stuff if you think your parents will be able to read it?
I went to a talk once by Augusten Burroughs and he said the distance from his family is what made it possible for him, but for Dave Pelzer, the guy who wrote “A Man Named Dave,” he wasn’t able to write about things until his parents died.
Is it difficult for you to put your experiences out there knowing your family will read them?
I struggle with how much to reveal so this post really struck home. I love you man.
A book that was so affirming to me as in yes,these things do happen & you as a child don’t realize what is wrong & there is no one to protect you, but even so the author could find some HUMOR in these incredible situations that are so unbelievable that it seems no one else understands–but my god–it did happen & it was crazy & wasn’t it funny (insane) about being locked in the closet while your mother is entertaining her boyfriends, etc. I mean, really, that is totally–well–people who have not lived through this kind of stuff I don’t think can see the humor of THIS WAS MY LIFE.
Sorry–as I said I am not a good communicator, but the book was by Mary (I think that is her first name) Karr. She is primarily a poet, but wrote this memoir & I was like, you too!!! It was REAL. It is called “The Liars Club.”
I saw her speak at a local university & she was charming & funny & so well-adjusted (as you seem to be). I don’t know how you do it or how she did it, but kudos to you amazing women who have experienced too much of the bad & survived & even THRIVED in life. You are definitely an inspiration. Check out her book. You could write one as poignant, I’m sure.
All my best—
Penelope
First, I’m sorry that you had such a traumatic childhood. Coming from one very similar to yours, I can identify and empathize. Perhaps it explains why you obviously don’t understand about personal boundaries, of the kind you break regularly when you blog all about anything/everything that comes to your mind.
Just because one can share, and even has something to share, doesn’t mean you should share. With the whole world.
Yes, it’s brave and necessary to discuss those things that can shame us and keep us from healing. Yes, it is important that we share this information with some people in our lives. But it’s about sharing with the appropriate people and not the world, and in an appropriate format.
There are plenty of professional mental health experts who might enlighten you about the different ways to “go public” with your thoughts, issues, etc.
Clearly, so many of your readers think you do all this for your personal catharsis. I’m afraid I believe you do it for attention and approval as well. Now, that’s not inherently bad. Lots of folks in entertainment, other industries do exactly the same thing. Today, everyone seems to share way too much with the general populace.
The issue to me is not so much what you share, but that you share indiscriminately and with no sense that some things are NOT 1/of interest to others (I do NOT care about your sex life! Why should I? I mean, seriously.)and 2/violate the privacy of others (you can make all the excuses you want, but you really have not paid much attention to the rights, concerns and cares of others in what you’ve blogged. You just blow that off. You show next to no real concern about others’ feelings. If Penelope wants to talk, she’ll talk. Free speech, blah, blah, blah. That’s truly selfish and inconsiderate.)
You seem to confuse the ability to discriminately share information with hiding, secrets and shame. It’s not either/or.
It’s clear you had no positive role models for appropriate behavior and the “sharing” is one glaring example.
There are probably some people who read your posts who may actually know you personally (business, socially, etc.) and who genuinely are involved in your life and care about you.
The rest who comment here? Some are observers, voyeurs (and worse, in some cases). But the folks here are not your friends. They are NOT invested in your real life. They do not have your back or your interests at heart.
Folks who write here also delude themselves when they respond, because they are, for the most part, writing as strangers, and not as individuals actually involved in your real/offline life and healing. (Do you realize that your real life is NOT lived online? I wonder. I think you have a real addiction problem when it comes to your obsession with sharing some of the stuff you do.)
Had you shared this very same information without identifying yourself and with your friends and family (many of whom did not give you permission and specifically asked not to be included), you might be more credible.
But your almost constant need to share so much is, to me and others (though they may not say it–your blog seems to attract a lot of syncophants) a sign that you still have some serious personal issues that need some private work. A blog is not your personal “couch” for therapy, though that is how you treat it.
The cable show In Treatment was interesting because it was not about real people. And any show that is on TV, no matter that it’s labeled “reality” is not about reality. Life is NOT lived in blogs or on TV.
You write:
“And when you think you cannot tell someone something about yourself, ask yourself, "Really, why not?"”
Why not? 1/ Who cares? is the first and obvious response and 2/Think of how what you say affects others and your own life. Each of us thinks our lives are interesting and fascinating. Maybe they are, to a select few people who care for us. Maybe not. (You’re not Oprah, Penelope. When you’ve actually helped as many people as she has with her sharing, then maybe…)
You “talk” a lot, but you really don’t have much true insight into yourself and your real needs.
I hope you are in therapy now but I doubt it. No therapist with real credentials would urge you to share as you have shared. If anything, it would be the opposite.
personally, I resent you treating an audience as if we were your therapists. And that is how you treat us.
You can share plenty in life with those who are truly involved in your life. But that doesn’t mean you share everything or whatever comes through your head at any moment.
For those who praise you for this, you are entitled to your opinion.
Just because you do something, think something, etc. doesn’t mean it has to be shared.
That’s beyond self-indulgent and self-involved.
By the way, your entry didn’t really address the question you raised, IMHO.
It’s truly hard to feel sorry for you because really I think you are, at heart, manipulative. I’m sorry. You’ve been hurt, but I think all this blogging about your personal life is your own way of striking back and hurting others when you can’t deal with your own pain privately.
By the way, long before blogs, there were these things called “personal journals.” People wrote everything in them and then perhaps shared them with only a few trusted souls. One-on-one therapy (or group for you, since you NEED an audience) also is an option for this type of sharing in a constructive fashion.
My real sadness for you is that you might actually believe that putting all this out there has helped you deal better with your life. From what you have written, it’s clear that you haven’t. Cause to quote Dr. Phil, “How’s it working for you?” It clearly is not.
FYI: Everybody has stuff. You’re right in that you are no different than others. But you are not “braver” than those who do not blog their every thought.
I’m sure this will sound harsh to your “fans” but hey, isn’t it all about opinion and sharing? So, I say all this in that spirit, the one that you constantly exhort.
my own feelings on this are absolutely irrelevant to your life.
I hope you find some peace of mind. I hope that all this “sharing” leads you back to a less public “space” and to some real work. Cause blogging your brains out has not solved, and will not solve, the pain you are experiencing from what you’ve been through.
Ironically, I always suspected that you were someone who might have been severely abused. You demonstrate a lot of behavior of individuals who’ve been subjected to it. (although not all, because too many people go to the opposite extreme and say nothing. Honestly, there is a middle ground to explore for both of you.)
IRG, you sound defensive. What’s up? Did this post touch a nerve? If you don’t want to read what Penelope has to say, then don’t read it. No one’s forcing you. It’s her BLOG, for chrissake. Her online diary. Why do you resent her feelings?
And you only have to read through the comments here to see how many people have been helped by her sharing. Reminds me of the starfish story, a man walking along the beach picking up stranded starfish and throwing them back in the water. Someone says, “how can you possibly do this, there are so many! How could your efforts matter?” and the guy looks at the starfish in his hand, “It matters to this one.” If even one person is helped, isn’t it worth it?
I can understand what you are saying but really it’s Penelope’s story to tell or not tell, and it’s her decision how to deal with it. We shouldn’t judge that any more than we should judge someone’s decision to keep such a thing private.
There is even a chance that by sharing her experiences, she may end up helping other people who have been through similar (or even completely different) experiences by helping them know they are not alone (or in my case, putting into perspective how fortunate I really am).
I agree that Penelope seeks attention – there are a lot of posts where that is true to more or less extent. But really, so what if she does? There are worse things in life and at least she’s turning it into some kind of currency through the blog.
I don’t think it’s true to say that none of Penelope’s readers care about her either. I think many of the responses, my own included, are nothing but compassionate. It’s not voyeurism. I might not know Penelope face to face but I still think of her as a real human being and care about her.