I have been struggling with myself about my decision to post my musings about sensitive family matters online. Many friends have graciously offered words of encouragement, thinking that the act may be therapeutic for me and perhaps even helpful to others who are suffering similar challenges. (We are many.) I hope on the one hand that these generous renderings of my motives may be true and doubt on the other hand that such faith is warranted.
It may help my case to note that I have saved my darkest thoughts for a private journal-- though in a family with children the assumption of privacy is always suspect. But I know that, for each friend who has offered a note of support about the openness with which I discuss Tim's circumstances--and now blog about them--there are four more who remain silent. Perhaps feeling--as I also do!--that somehow such sensitive matters should be kept private. To protect the child, perhaps to avoid excessive scrutiny on the pathologies of family life and parenting that are better hidden, or perhaps which invite such judgments as may be damaging to the parties, particularly the children.
Am I whining about my child's crisis, playing for sympathy we don't deserve, rather than privately shouldering the blame I am due?
I don't know.
There are some days I cannot read the newspaper because there is too much in it. Most days I cannot write my life for the same reason. Perhaps any reader who stumbles across this stuff and despises it can be trusted simply to move along to something more palatable or at least better-bounded.