MEMOIR WRITING

Cranston Street

Online dating and how I learned to speak my truth …

We met online, back before it was acceptable and common. Back when you didn’t talk about it and lied to your parents about where you met your new boyfriend.

I remember his picture. He was cute with red hair and vibrant eyes, and he wore a wool driver’s cap. His messages were funny and light. Reading them made me smile. I didn’t do that often, not for real anyway.

I’ve always been good at putting on a brave face. In my family, we kept up appearances. Things were done in a certain way. The same way they had always been done. We all knew the rules, though they were no more spoken out loud than anything else was. Never talk about it. What you see, what you hear, what you feel. Especially what you feel. Never speak of it. Tie it up, stamp it down, do whatever you must. As long as it remains below. We never let the outside world see our pain. No one allowed their true selves to show, for fear of judgment, for fear of repercussions.

If you keep the sitting room spotless enough, if you straighten the cushions and make the mantles gleam, what difference does it make how messy the basement is? No difference at all, it turns out. “Just remember,” a friend of mine used to say as a joke, “no one sees the inside.” And we would always laugh. But the real truth was, that was how my family was. My friend never knew how close he was to the way things were. There was no support to be had for anyone. It became a self-sustaining entity over generations of hidden hopes and dreams, fears and secrets.

The quiet was deafening in my family. The air was always filled with the things we didn’t say, the tears we never shed, the fights we never had. You could feel the force of it, filling every corner, soaking into the walls. You could hear it in the hushed voices and see it in the averted eyes.

But everything was fine, always. Everything was good. And it didn’t matter much that you would never be good enough, because that was just a given. You would never be smart enough, thin enough, pretty enough. Because at least you knew your place. At least you knew enough to be seen and not heard. Never heard. We carried our walls with us, and they were blessedly soundproofed.

I remember the few times I tried to break free and just be myself. But my real self, the self that longed for color and vibrant magic and excitement, was always stifled and pushed down. And soon, I didn’t need anyone to do that for me, I did it all by myself. Meanwhile, deep inside, I felt different and alone. Inside I screamed and fought, and scrabbled at the walls until my fingers bled and my throat was raw. And, once I had exhausted myself, once all the screaming and fighting was done, I began to welcome the walls. I began to love them. They were easy, they were familiar. This is what was done. That was how we lived.

I became a perfect chameleon. My co-workers loved me, my boss loved me, my classmates too. Everybody loved the person I showed them. I was friendly, upbeat, I always had a smile on my face. If you smile enough, it becomes easy. The muscles learn how to keep up. Pretty soon, you can do it with no effort at all. Whether you feel it or not. Always smile, always laugh, and always keep up appearances. That is the key. Appearances. But, on the inside, I was just a pile of mismatched, half-drawn puzzle pieces, never given a chance.

Online dating gave me a chance to be more myself. I could hide behind my computer and talk without fear of any real judgment. I could spend hours talking or just be done in a few minutes. It was up to me. I could share as much, or as little as I wanted. In the end, it didn’t matter. Because, usually, that was where it ended, conversation. I wanted to leave it just as it was, perfect, wonderful conversations with people, as my true self. Like some modern-day fairy tale, I could be the princess as long as it was over a broadband connection. I was sure that meeting anyone in person would break the spell, and I’d be sent back to sweep the hearth in my rags again.

I could have spent my life like that, I think. Those conversations could have been the closest I ever got to being myself. I was sure that was all I would ever have. I was sure that was all I ever deserved.

But he was different. Something in his eyes, maybe, or his smile. Something in the way he talked, or how he moved. Somehow, I knew that my secrets wouldn’t matter. I knew that something unconditional was there. I was nervous, and excited, and scared, but in a whole new way. I was suddenly faced with the real question of what my life could be like if I let my walls down.

I don’t remember our first date as well as he does. I do remember that he was adorable, and I had one too many drinks out of nervousness. I was sure he was laughing at my dumb jokes just to humor me.

But what I remember most clearly was a feeling of being home. Comfort, exhilarating comfort.

That was fourteen years ago, and I feel like I’ve known him all of my life. Like he was right there by my side the entire time, his unconditional love guiding me.

My gratitude has no boundaries. He holds me when I cry, when I am convinced that the world is falling down around me. He listens to my rambling stories, and I can see the love in his eyes.

I don’t know if anyone has ever been as blessed as I have been, but I wish it for everyone.

He lives his life for others, and sometimes he has nothing left for himself. And that’s where I come in, to remind him of what he deserves, and that he is worth it.

Today we live on Cranston Street, far from the silence and judgment I grew up with. We work together, side by side. We take on the task of making people’s stories come to life. And we do this together because we both know how important it is to have your story told.

Thank you for reading my story. I’d love to hear your opinions.

I am a writer and an editor. I mainly edit Fiction, and I specialize in Romance. I write a little bit of everything, whatever is on my mind at the moment. My writing is greatly influenced by my past trauma, and I enjoy speaking openly and freely about my mental health diagnoses. You can follow me here.