You don’t have to post it just cause you wrote it. Everything you think, you don’t have to say.
I did something I haven’t done in a long time last night. I tore up a draft of a blog post I’d written on paper in a little bit of time I seized between meetings. I was about three-quarters finished with it.
Something said to me to run the post by my husband before I finalized it. I’ve learned to listen to something. Something is a Wise Woman. So I gave it to him.
“Let me know what you think of this…do you think I should post it?”
He read it, looked at me and said, “Don’t post this.”
We had a five minute discussion about it, and then I tore the paper up into pieces. 
He tried to stop me at the first started tearing up. “It’s your writing, if you believe in it but it will cause…” I interrupted him because we’d already gone over that. “No,” I said, “It’s no problem, everything I think I don’t have to write.” I realized, vividly, that a few people might get so stuck on the particulars that they wouldn’t get to the bigger points I was trying to make. So I did something I’m becoming quite accomplished at: letting go. I tore the paper with my words on it, my feeling on it, forcefully.
Everything I think, I don’t have to say. Every event that happens, I don’t have to attend, won’t be able to attend, and don’t have to analyze.
I can hold it in.
I can let it go.
I can rise above.
No one has to know.
I won’t write about the wedding, the meeting, the committee, the cra-cra, the gall, the visit, the lack of gratitude, the clueless, the lies, the hypocrisy, or the frustration.
I will hold my tongue.
Cede my ground,
Tamp it down,
Go with the flow until I can go.
I’ll self-silence this go round.
I am feeling so weary and empty and stupid as I write this. Why? Why? Why, Candelaria? To paraphrase the lyrics to Band on the Run by Lynda and Paul McCartney – “If I ever get out of here, gonna give it all away, to a registered charity…if I ever get out of here.”