Naked

Ever found yourself naked in front of an entire town?

Me either, it just feels that way. Sharing my writing and my column has made me realize that as much as I love writing, sharing it scares the living daylights out of me.

Every time I send the email that contains that week's column, I feel like I have just walked, unannounced, into a strangers living room. Naked.

I know it sounds intense. It also feels intense. My words are entirely my own. I am typing (and subsequently sharing) my inner monologue. The fact that I write about myself and parenting just adds to the anxiety. Fellow parents can be as judgmental as a gang of 15 year old girls leaving Abercrombie&Fitch.

To have my writing criticized is to have what I am made up of criticized. Nobody wants that. Especially me. In my column's byline it describes me as "the most outgoing shy person you will ever meet". Couldn't be more true. If left to my own devices I would most likely live in a cave somewhere. That being said, I love being around people I know and trust. And herein lies the key.

When I write a piece, people beyond my bubble are reading it. People who may not agree with me are reading it. People I DON'T KNOW are reading it. That simultaneously makes me really happy and freaks me out. Maybe it is time to take my Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde self to my cave. And then, throw a party.

It is really quite a masochistic path. Here I am, week after week, still exposing myself via my words. I could have easily given up after the first column ran. I could have realized how scary it is to have strangers recognize me and comment on my work. But, I didn't. It is all part of trying to become a better person. Challenging myself to go beyond my comfort zone. To become a new and improved JbC. Me, 2-point-oh. To only worry about what I think, not what I think others are thinking. And then, after the crazy settles, type it out and share it with you.

I don't know if the feeling of being so utterly exposed will ever wane. I don't know if my comfort level will permanently shift. All I know is that, for now, I will continue to write. I will continue to fight against my impulse to hide away under the covers.

I will keep walking into stranger's living rooms naked. Metaphorically, of course.