Things I’m afraid to tell you

By now I’m sure you guys have seen this “things I’m afraid to tell you” stuff all the hell over the blogosphere. Ez from Creature Comforts was inspired by this post on Makeunder My life and then a whole slew of other bloggers joined in on the fun.

I think “things I’m afraid to tell you” is officially the new “outfit to room” post.


Even though I tend to avoid jumping on the ole bandwagon type shit, I actually really dig the idea of this one. And so when my friend Meg from Mimi+Meg wrote asking me to participate in “things I’m afraid to tell you” part deux wave, I was totally down. As a writer, I always like to challenge myself, and the idea of telling you all the stuff that I’ve paid some shrink $250/hr to sort through with me at various points in my life definitely falls under the category of “stuff that might make me wanna throw up.” And, in this case, that’s a good thing.

Herewith is a list of 5 things I’m *actually* afraid to tell you…or really anyone:

1. I absolutely hate my body, and have for my entire life.

And so I don’t ever feel pretty. Ever.

I hate looking into any mirrors cause no matter what is going on for me that day, all I can see is FATFATTYMCFATTERSON. I don’t have any scary eating disorders, thankfully, except why isn’t food addiction considered just as serious as bulemia or anorexia??–cause that one I’ve got a lockdown on. I’ve been overweight pretty much my entire life, in fact I weighed 10 pounds 12 oz when I was born, so that pretty much kicked things off in a really shitty way. If there is such a thing as an obesity gene, then I’m pretty sure that my family has an exclusive license to it.

But blah, blah, blah, excuses, blah, blah. I didn’t get this way cause of a thyroid issue—it’s my fault entirely.

Pick a food, any food, and if it’s bad for you then I fucking love it. My senior year of college some weird switch flipped in my head, and without doing much in the way of formal dieting, I lost 100 pounds over the course of the year–my skinny years I call them. I managed to stay there for about 5 years and then I bought myself a first-class ticket back on the #myfatass express. Now I need to lose about 50 pounds again, and as it’s been this way for several years now, this has become my new normal.

I’m so fucking sick of this being the story of my life, I cannot tell you. I don’t want to be thinking about it, or dealing with it, or trying a new diet, or a new exercise regime or reading a stupid article in Shape magazine about what I should or shouldn’t be doing. I know what I should be doing and I just don’t do it. Which doesn’t make any sense, cause most of all I just really want to lose the weight and be done with it…like I want it OFF the light up movie marquee in my brain. And for some unknown reason to me, I just can’t won’t do it. This fact makes me want to punch a baby panda directly in it’s face.

2. I don’t like your baby.

I mean, I don’t necessarily *dislike* your baby, but I definitely don’t automatically just like it because it’s a baby and all babies are wonderful, mesmerizing, amazing and beautiful gifts from the heavens above. I’m sure your baby is adorable, and will one day grow up to do amazing things, but I’m just not a baby person.

Society has told me again and again and again that it’s not ok and feel this way, and so I hide it, and pretend, and coo and gurgle on cue whenever your baby is in front of me because that is what you are expecting me to do…but if I’m being really honest, I don’t mean any of it.

And I totally get it that many of you out there can’t relate to this at all, which is probably why I’ve gotten pretty good at hiding it.

I guess it’s not a shocker that I don’t have a baby, and I definitely don’t want one. I think it’s totally cool if you do! But I just don’t, and so I don’t really have any interest in baby talk and poop talk and breastfeeding talk. And while it’s getting a smidge better as more and more people decide to remain babyless like me, I definitely resent the notion (a notion which is sometimes expressed with knowing glances, and head shakes, and “awwws”), that because I don’t have a baby I will be missing out on whatever magic you feel exists in your life because you have one. Of course not all moms feel this way, or make me feel this way, but it still seems to be the accepted societal norm point-of-view.  And look, moms: I don’t mean to minimize your “magic” or claim it’s not legit–I so get that for you it is. But also I’ve got my own magic…trust me.

As such, obviously it’s totally fair if you hate my dog.


3. I often feel like I’m related to Dexter.

No, not because I’m an in the closet design blogger serial killer, though let’s get real people: that would make a pretty amazing Lifetime original movie. But because I just often don’t really give a shit about things. Sometimes I feel like I’m an emotional black hole. Like if there was a place in our brains that contained all of our emotions, and someone opened up my head and looked inside there, there might be some cobwebs…and an old episode of the Golden Girls playing.

Things don’t often seem to bother me like they do other people: like all those “you’re a fucking idiot” comments on my blog, a friend forgetting to call me on my birthday, not talking to my dad for 2 months–I kind of just don’t care about any of it. Oddly, other things totally set me off. Like that fucking Sarah McLachlan ASPCA commercial–I have sobbed like 7 times over that thing. And that video about that kid who built his own arcade; and this one about this dog Timmy who gets his own wheelchair and now needs to be adopted. Ok, so maybe I only care about things related to dogs?

Also, I think this is sometimes why it bugs me being friends with other women. Cause women, generally speaking, care about E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. And every layer of everything. And every subset, secondary layer of everything. And if they don’t care about layer 47 subset layer 6, then they want to discuss why. And sometimes I just find it tiresome to care about sooooo much shit.

Like this whole notion of how up in arms some people get about “cruelty on the internet” and how women treat other women and all that jazz…it’s just hard for me to relate. I mean, like why would I get my undies in a bundle over what some random person that I don’t know and who doesn’t know me says in the comments section of my blog?? That’s not worth even a teeny tiny drop of my emotional energy.

I’m pretty sure I’m not a monster since after my mom died, I cried alone in the shower every day for probably 6 months…so maybe that just wore me out?

Of course I stll love my husband, and my family, and my dog, and have some great friends…but a lot of other things that loads of people spend so much time analyzing, and discussing, and picking apart are kind of just whatevs for me.


4. I have a medium…and an animal communicator.

I don’t believe that when you die, you’re just gone. And I don’t believe that just because animals don’t “talk” like we do they have nothing to say.

I get that lots of people think this shit is crazy, but also I don’t really care (see #3).


5. I watch every show on tv. Like E-V-E-R-Y single one.

I’ve talked about my TV problem before, but even when I talk about it I kind of glaze over the specifics. TV is like my second full-time job, and just like my real job, I take these TV watching responsibilities very, very seriously (by the way, this is not my Tivo now playing list–mine is filled with way the hell more bad reality TV).

Whenever you get one of those surveys that’s like: “how much tv do you watch in an average week?” and then there are like 5 multiple choice answers…yeah, I don’t even need to read the answers and just automatically choose the last one.

For the record, I was an English major in college…I do know how to read and write pretty well. I just happen to love the shit out of TV and don’t care who knows about it.

Ok! I think we’re done here!

Clearly I will understand if none of you ever want to speak to me again. Seeing all this shit in black and white is far more disturbing than I could have ever imagined. Next time I want to “challenge” myself I’ll try to remember to just jump out of a fucking plane or run a half marathon like most other normal people.

I suggest you go “cleanse your palette” of my insanity by reading some other bloggers true confessions.

Here are all the Things I’m Afraid to Tell You part deux bloggers:

Cassie: Coco + Kelley / Christine: Court & Hudson / Caitlin: Sacramento Street / Roxy: My Cup of Te / Crystal: Blog / Meg:MIMI+MEG / Ashlina: The Decorista / Katie: Modern Eve / Erin: Apartment 34 / Erica: Design Blahg / Victoria: Vmac & Cheese / Christine: Miles to Style / Franki: Life in a Venti Cup  / Sue: The Zhush / Erika: Radiant Republic / Gabrielle: Savvy Home / Monika: The Doctor’s Closet / Naomi: Design Manifest /Tobe: Because It’s Awesome / Becca: {extra}ordinary wonders / Lynzy: Sparkling Footsteps / Hitha: Hitha On The Go / Sarah: Note To Self / Liz: So Much To Smile About / Sarah: Blogstar / Alissa: The Goods Design / Jessie: Style & Pepper / Erika: Small Shop Studio  / AV: Long Distance Loving / Maggie: Maggie Rose Blog / Nicole: The City Girl In Me / Priscilla: The Best Laid Plans / Jen: Concrete Jungle DC / Janelle: Food Fashion Fitness / Natalie: East Coast Chic

And, of course, thanks again to Jess for her initial post, and to Ez for starting the movement.