Is Your Greatest Flaw Your Biggest Asset?
Do you bury it down or let it shine?
Medium isn’t my first rodeo in the online writing world. I’ve dabbled on other sites. They’re always the same content: the brain dumps of an anxiety-ridden female human who overthinks the shit out of everything.
Regardless of the forum, one feedback theme emerges. People, especially men, praise my ability to be “raw”, “honest”, “authentic”, and my ability to “articulate these feelings”. A few have called me “intriguing” as a result.
Every time, my reaction is akin to Hela’s at the 57-second mark:
I stay anonymous online so that I’m not self-conscious about writing what’s in me. And if you cut me open, what’s in me isn’t the poetic beauty of dying flowers or a wounded unicorn. The way other women write is so achingly beautiful, their pain dances like raindrops on an ocean. Rip me open and you’ll find an ugly little gremlin, chain-smoking (I don’t smoke, but that fucker does), blocking his eyes from the light while yelling “what the fuck asshole, can’t you see I want to be left alone?”
