Someone asked me recently about my having put so much out there in my writing, about having dropped so many personal things into such a public space, and how I felt about my children seeing that, if and when the time comes. It's kind of an off-shoot of having my parents or my in-laws read these things, and I've always said that they shouldn't look if they don't want to see what's there.
With my kids, though, it's a little different, certainly. They're young, and I often cover topics that simply aren't appropriate for them right now or any time soon. Eventually the day will come when they'll be old enough to understand the concepts of sexual assault or youthful recreational drug use, of teen angst and depression, of isolation and self-loathing of self-image. It's not like I think they'll wake up one morning, suddenly mature, and I'll decide to share all of my gory details with them. But if my past choices and predicaments become part of their public knowledge, we'll address them as what they were: steps on the path to now.
When I started writing again, and especially when I started blogging in this vein, I had to make the conscious decision to be (sometimes) painfully honest, both to others and to myself. It was the only way I felt I could effectively explore the thoughts at hand. It also meant I had to open myself up to criticism and comment from people I did and didn't know. It's been rare that I've received negative feedback. I'm fully aware that the more I do this, the more likely that is to happen. And as much as I say I don't really care about what other people think, it would be disheartening to never get the goodness back from my readers, whoever you may be.
But part of the decision to be so overtly candid did take my children into consideration. Their perceptions of Mommy are totally skewed to the wacky intimacy of the parent-child relationship, as is to be expected. They're only just now seeing that Stephanie and Mom aren't always exactly the same person. While I will always be in the role of Mom with them, I was Stephanie before I was their mother, and that's not changing.
And Stephanie did a lot of crazy shit, both badass and dumbass.
Every single one of my battle stories is part of the Epic of StephQJ, and each deserves its rightful place as part of who I am. I don't expect, or even want!, my children to emulate everything I did in my past or even do now. What I do expect is for them to grow up with the knowledge that their mother is her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, as well as a life that isn't always little-boy-centric. I want them to grow into their respect of me as a woman who did her best to enjoy her life, and who tried to model that behavior for them, even when she had to deal with the repercussions of bad choices and disappointments.
If there's anything I am truly ashamed or regretful about in my life, it's not something I'm planning to talk about openly anyway. There are very, very few things that fall into those categories, thankfully, and I've had to find my own ways to deal with them, to put them away for good, and to move forward. I'm trying not to create any more regrets between now and the time this turn on the Big Wheel comes to its end.
So what I want most for my boys to take away from their knowledge of me and my muchness, is the example of how to be their own person, how to make their own choices that are right for their own lives, and to deal with the consequences, good or bad. I want them to recognize that the other people around them have the innate abilities and rights to do the same, even if the others' choices are in direct opposition to their own--and that being diametrically opposed doesn't always mean being bad. And I want them to understand that everyone journeys through their own struggles in their own, personal ways, and that to get to the destination is a huge accomplishment, but that it is ultimately the quality of the journey that matters most.