My status as a writer doesn’t mean that it’s easy for me to write. In fact, my ability to work with words sometimes makes the writing more complicated. It becomes encumbered with how I will say a thing and my responsibility to the words and to my audience. I find myself encountering the reality that words sometimes should not be said, that silence should be allowed to reign.
For instance, I recently was faced with a hard decision: Do I sever all communications with someone who is dear to me yet is hurting me with every like and comment on my status updates? Once I answered the question in the affirmative, I had to decide how I was going to cut off that communication. Would I tell the person? Should I tell that person? What was my responsibility to this person?
I struggled with those questions for three days. I shed some tears. I became nauseated at the thought of explaining why I was cutting off communication. I began to feel even worse when I pondered how to write that explanation. Could I do it in a way that didn’t cast blame? Could I do it in a way that didn’t make me seem like a petulant child?
I couldn’t answer those questions in the affirmative, so I chose to do two hard things. I ceased communicating with a person who is dear to me. I didn’t tell that person why.