Getting it Out

So unless this is the very first blog of mine you've ever read, it is no secret that I LIKE to complain. It helps me! I blog just so I can get it all out, and every time I push the publish button, I feel like I lose a few pounds. For me, it's not even about being read or heard. It's about release. The rooster likes to let balloons go free; I send out thought balloons.



So I'm a complainer. And, philosophically, I'm cool with that! You can tell me to my face, "Girl, you are such a COMPLAINER." I won't get upset at all. I'll say, "Yep. Good for the soul. Does a body good." You go ahead and complain, too. I'll listen/read. For me it's a little vicarious release. You might not hear me saying, "Amen!" But I'm saying it. All hail the absence of festering! I will likewise cheer vociferously for all the good news you share, too. I don't think less of complainers, including my own self.

But the other day my husband says to me, half joking, "Want me to find you a cross to carry around, too?" Ha. I didn't like that. I like to COMPLAIN, not BEMOAN. Certainly not whine, wheedle, or wallow. I just like to complain in what I think of as kind of a productive way. Not competitive.

Certainly, in the world of special needs parenting, I don't think I win any awards for carrying the heaviest loads or doing the best job, or having the most interesting perspective, and I know that there is always something harder, just as there is always someone to envy. That doesn't interest me, though. I am not into one-ups-person-ship. I just like to talk; that means rejoicing in the good, and complaining about the bad.

So my husband said I had no sense of humor regarding the cross comment. But I do. For instance...

My in-laws were over last weekend. I told them a story about my aunt, the one who suffered a terrible injury in a car accident but NEVER mentions the serious chronic pain that comes from having metal and screws holding her neck together. I said, mid-story, regarding her stoicism, "She's my aunt by marriage; clearly we are not blood relatives!" And then I snorted! I cracked up completely, and my inlaws laughed too in agreement that I am many things, but a silent sufferer is not one of them.

But I really don't think of myself as acting all martyr-ish. And if you disagree with me, then I am really sorry, because I don't want to come off like that. But if you prefer a little less whine when you dine on blogs, may I suggest with all due politeness and respect, next time maybe you should read some other person's blog?

Because I come here to get it all out.