Every day, I bite my tongue–er, still my fingers on the keyboard.
I desperately want to make snarky comments, to express my frustration, to let the world know how I feel.
They’re thinly veiled criticisms, one-liners that would be sure to meet their mark.
They refer to personal habits, individual quirks, things that drive me absolutely nuts.
Things about people I love.
Things that would hurt them deeply were I to speak.
Every day, I bite my tongue.
But not because I love them.
I bite my tongue because I love me.
I don’t want to disturb the peace, to have to actually deal with the issues–the issues that I know aren’t really that important but which bug me anyway.
I don’t want to have to undo the hurt I’ve caused.
Mostly, I don’t want people to see the real, ugly me.
If I said those words out loud, you’d all know how mean, how nasty, how spiteful I can actually be. And I don’t want you to know.
I want you to see me through rose-colored glasses. I want you to perceive me as super-spiritual, practically-perfect. Sure, I’ll share my struggles, so long as they’re big existential struggles (and I have plenty of those to keep blog space filled, it seems.) But I don’t want you to see my pettiness, my unlovingness.
I bite my tongue.
I do the right thing.
But not because I love.
Because I care what people think.
Interesting thought. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought it through quite like that. I don’t say everything I want to say because I care about my own personal safety – and that’s exactly the term I think of. Because I know thoughts have consequences and I’m trying to be mindful of them. Sometimes for love of self. Or does that make it all the time? Well. Hmm. Something for me to think on.