The Other Shoe

Last night, after going out to see the most recent Avengers movie with his roommate, B and I sat on his bed.  We talked for a little while about the movie, about stuff that had happened that day, the usual.  And then, the not so usual.

"I have to tell you something," he said out of nowhere.

"Okay..." I answered back, a little worried.  A little hopeful?

"It's not a bad thing," he said.

"Just tell me," I answered back, just worried now.

"I know about your blog."











"Please tell me you didn't read it," I said, desperately.

He just looked at me.

"Oh my god," I said.  "Oh my god, no.  Oh no."  I couldn't look at him.  "How much did you read?"

"All the ones about me.  And a few more."

"Oh my god.  Oh my god.  Oh my god."  I clung my hands to my face in utter mortification.  "Oh my god."

"No, no," he said, pulling my hands back.  "Don't do that."

I finally calmed down enough to keep my hands away from my face.  I stared at the ceiling instead.

"You know everything," I said.  "Oh my god."

His ex-girlfriend had found the blog somehow, and she'd sent him the link.

All of that work.  All of that work at being open and letting myself be vulnerable.  All that work at being honest in my writing.  I felt exposed.  I couldn't even fathom touching the subject of his ex-girlfriend.  I couldn't be mad or disappointed or sad because I couldn't get past the fact that he knew everything.

My blog is like a public diary.  It is the most honest I will ever be with others about who I am, how I'm feeling, and what matters to me.  And over the last nine months, it has become an integral part of me and how I process daily living.  When I found out that the blog wasn't safe anymore, I wanted to write something to help me work it through, but I couldn't.  Because it wasn't safe.

He responded as well as any guy might to stumbling upon sappy writing about himself.

No, that's not fair.  He responded better than I'd hoped.  "You didn't write anything in your blog that I hadn't thought myself," he said.  "I think you're amazing."  He kissed me.

I didn't say anything.  I was stuck, staring at the wall.  He continued.  "I have thought more about picking up my guitar again and song-writing since meeting you last week than I have in the last year."

I didn't say anything.  He continued.  "You're a great writer, and I admire how open you are.  I need to be more open."

But he balked, too.  "If you keep posting, she'll keep reading.  And I want what's between us to stay between us.  I don't want her to be involved."

In my state of shock, I could only take deep breaths and calm myself.
"I think I'm just scared," I said.
He looked at me seriously.
"You think I'm not scared, too?"

I eventually got past "Oh my god" and moved on to trying to rebalance the scales.  "You know way more about me than I know about you now," I said.

"Ask me anything," he replied.

So we talked about personal history and family and movies and fears and the stuff you want to talk about with a guy about when you're just getting to know him.

But I still couldn't get past it.

"Oh my god," I stopped at one point.  "I can't believe you read my blog.  You just waded through a sea of compliments."

"Don't worry," he said.  "I won't let it get to my head."



This morning, the state of shock hadn't worn off.  I left my house early and sat out at the lakefront for a few minutes, trying to sort things out.  Trying to understand how I'd ever get back my feet back under me.  He knew everything.

I walked into a coworker's room this morning, and I stopped her in whatever she was doing.  "He read the blog," I said, "and I didn't show him."  "Oh no," she said.  "I don't know what I'm going to do," I said.

She suggested a password, and she was right.  It was the best option.  I googled the how-to and put one in place immediately.

I think that's when the hurt set in.  The blog was never meant to be about privacy.  I've always tried to write in a way that protected the people that made their way onto the page, but it was always about openness and honesty and engagement.  I had never thought that it would cause problems.  I had never considered that someone might read it and use it against me.  I always figured the worst that could happen would be that my mom would read it and find out that I make out with strangers and use curse words when she's not around.  Maybe that makes me naive; I don't know.

During first period today, someone who knows his ex-girlfriend texted me.  She'd seen my post on facebook about the new password protection.  "Hey can u give me a call when u get a sec?" she wrote.  I was with kids, though, so I just texted back to call me later.

In second period, after I'd finished all my grading and while my students built wooden towers and circuits on their own, I went back to read the blog.  Or rather, to re-read the blog through the eyes of B.  What had he learned that I didn't want him to know, or to know yet?

I'd written unequivocally about how I felt about him.  I'd written about marriage (oh my god).  I'd written about that Tinder guy who was at the grill-out at his house.  I'd mentioned my therapist.  And my ex-boyfriend.  And I'd revealed my own deep insecurities about how he felt about me.

"Oh my god," I said under my breath as I read.

By lunch time, I wasn't shocked any more.  I was just hurt.  And sad.  I felt like I'd been stripped and punched in the stomach a few times.  Because I love my blog.  It is a small and inadequate representation of myself, but it is something I have become increasingly attached to and proud of.  And now my blog has been restricted, censored.  It's been reduced to an email newsletter of sorts.  It was never supposed to be that way.  I was never supposed to be that way.

The kids were ten minutes late to recess, and I spent those ten minutes on a bench in the front of the school, wiping tears from my face.  Things with him wouldn't be the same--maybe better, maybe worse--but the blog could only be worse.  I loved getting emails and comments from random Facebook friends out of the blue, and that can't happen anymore.  There's nothing open or random about it with a password.  It's a private diary now.  That still has merit, but it's not the same.

I pulled myself together for the last two hours of school, and then I promptly got in my car, drove home, laid on my bed, and cried.  And cried.  And cried.

B and I texted back and forth, and it's hurting him, too.

"It hurts.  All of this," I typed.  "I don't understand why a girl I've never met would go out of her way to make my life a little harder.  I don't want you to feel sorry for me or feel bad for telling me, though.  I'm glad you were honest."

"I felt between a rock and a hard place," he replied.  "And I imagine that's how you feel.  But something was taken away from you, and it wouldn't have been if I wasn't around.  That doesn't make me feel good."

I didn't know what to say.  How do you explain to someone you've only just met that you wouldn't wish him to go away for the world--not if the blog could get a million hits a day--but that you really miss the way the blog was.  That you feel the loss somewhere in the pit of your stomach.  That you cannot choose, and you cannot win.

At that point, he had to go.  He was at work, and work needed him.


In the end, I don't know what to do.  I suppose I'll keep writing, and hope you'll keep reading.  If you know someone that might like the blog, let me know, and I'll send them the password.

And pray that I come out of this better.  Pray that it doesn't kill a good thing.  Because I really, really like him.