I wrote a piece for Shameless Magazine’s blog that just went up on the site today, which you can read here. As soon as my editor sent me the email, I went into a texting frenzy: I sent heavily capslocked messages to my friends, my mom, and my dad (who answered with “Great congrats.” Thanks, dad) and received a lot of shocked “Wow, this is really personal”-type remarks in return. One friend texted me, verbatim, “That was really deep Victoria. I don’t think I would have the bravery to tell people about my life like that”. The message piqued something in the mass of grey matter rattling around in my head.
I guess I never really thought about the different people who might be reading that piece. I mean, I thought about it, sure, but I mainly thought about complete strangers and my closest friends reading it as opposed to Some Guy who knew my name in high school but never got to know or talk to me poring over the words I’d composed on the page. I guess that’d be a little weird for said Guy, but not really for me. I just spoke my own truth, which is A-OK with me. I think it’d be more uncomfortable to peer into the past of someone who you only nominally know than to be the one divulging the deep, dark secrets of the past. Take it from me, friends—ain’t nothin’ more awkward than the moment you first stumble across the anguished ramblings to be found on the #personal tag of your acquaintance’s Tumblr account. The initial shock and mild fear is accompanied by a pervasive discomfort that worms its way STRAIGHT INTO YOUR SOUL.
But that’s just my opinion. Yahoy!