Yap, yap, yap.

11/06/2012 09:07:00 PM
I think it's both a blessing and a curse to be a communicator.

I grew up talking. All the time. Talking all the time. Ask my teachers, my family, my cousins, my Mom. (Oh, my poor Mom.) I do blame this on her, though. I was in a counseling group for kids of divorced parents at an early age and then again when my Dad was dying of cancer. Talking, talking, talking = healthy in our family.

Back when I was growing up the family mantra was = If it's bothering you, talk about it.

I can see this as both a good thing and a not so good thing.

See, those of us who verbalize our frustrations and conflicts can be confusing to others. Case in point: I don't stew and ruminate and over-analyze and question. If something's bothering me -- I feel it. It creeps up through my toes, lands in my stomach and in the back of my neck and I MUST talk about it or I will EXPLODE.

And then I'm done.

I hate conflict and will do just about anything to avoid it; I prefer everyone to be laughing together.

I'm digressing...

Back to talking. I think that there's a fine line between over-communication and under-communication and I'll probably spend my whole life towing it. Or at least trying to tow it.

I'll figure it out one day.



  1. Ah, that line. I still haven't found it.

    I get this. That "i'm going to explode if I don't get this out"? Yeah. I get it.

  2. As another child of therapy, I also think that we should talk about EVERYTHING. Nothing should fester. Everything should be out in the open. I could not be married to a more opposite person.

    It's ROUGH.


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