It’s fair to say that my blog has taken a lot of weird turns in the past 12+ months. I got married, I wrote a bunch of overly happy and uplifting posts, I went MIA for a while, and then I returned with a bunch of bitter insights about trying to date and how much I hate everyone. Can you take a wild guess what happened in between? While I’d safely say this is easily my worst year to date, I’ve been able to stay rock steady in one thing: I’ve been sincerely honest.
I’ve kind of been #blessed when it comes to this blog because I would say over 90% of the responses since I started it about 4 years ago have been overwhelmingly positive. It’s kind of easy to stay in your lane and not make any major changes when people continue to blow smoke up your ass.
However, there has been a bit of backlash. There have been some topics that are too tender to share with the world, too many hurt feelings, and I’ve even had people tell me not to say things that I want to say. No, you know what- not “want” to say, but need to say.
I tried to not let it get to me, and of course I wondered if I was being too harsh, too loud, too Kalee-ish yet again, pushing people out.
I’m not the voice of my generation, I’m not a published writer. I am lucky enough to make an ok living off of my Creative Writing degree, and I’m just generally an honest person. I don’t want to pull a Carly Simon and tell you that you’re so vain, you probably think this post is about you- but if I don’t name you directly, chill. Also, if you wanted to be spoken so highly of, maybe you should have been a better person?
I spent so many years as a kid and preteen feeling riddled with anxiety. I never wanted to leave my house, I was constantly in fear that everyone hated me, no one understood me, and that I was just fucking ALONE. To say that those fears have completely gone away now that I’m an “adult” would just be false. And the only reason I’ve come as far as I have is because of writers. Because of people who tell the truth, even when it’s ugly and hard and unflattering.
I’m not saying it’s my job to speak for other people, but if my story literally makes ONE less scared, lonely, frustrated, and loss woman feel better, I fucking did my job, I can die happy- seriously.
What happens to us if people stop telling their stories? What happens to all the kids who have bad relationships with their parents, get divorced, get in debt, and feel all those terrible feelings we all try to bury? How do we help them? I’m not brave and I’m not special, and I’m only kind of funny sometimes, but I’ll be damned if anyone thinks they have the right to tell me not to speak my truth.
You have every opportunity to not read, but I’ll never stop writing.