I have made some mistakes in my blogging days. Big mistakes. Massive mistakes. Irreparable mistakes.
There were women, women that I considered close, women that I considered friends, women that won’t have anything to do with me anymore.
Because I hurt them. Badly.
I get it. I fucked up. They had, and have, every right to distance themselves from me. I don’t harbor any ill will or resentment. If anything I still feel lingering guilt for the feelings I hurt, for the damage I caused. I want to say I’m sorry. In most cases I have, but it clearly hasn’t helped.
I burned bridges and now I have to recognize there are chasms I can’t cross. Words are powerful, and there are very real consequences when you wield them carelessly. I understand and accept that.
But sometimes these women write amazing things. Sometimes momentous things happen to them. And I want to say something. I want to write something down, I want to reach out, but I don’t because I know they wouldn’t want me to. They don’t want to know that I read their words, or hear their news. They don’t want to know anything about me.
So I don’t say anything. I don’t post a comment or send an email, even though many times I write them.
Instead I just sit, on my side of the computer, and I keep my sadness to myself. I hold it close, willing myself to learn from my mistakes, so the next time I won’t let my suffering or my insecurity or my confusion or my pettiness drive me to say something I shouldn’t say. Something that hurts. Something that closes doors, and locks them, forever.