Confession of a Sensitive Writer

Hot topic disclaimer: You may only read this post if you promise not to become offended on my behalf and write my husband letters. You see, we have worked this whole issue out—mostly—and our boxing gloves rest safely in a grungy corner of the basement. I’d hate to have to bring them upstairs because someone misunderstood my motive in baring my soul today.


I believe what I’m about to confess may help some of you writers, singers, artists, dancers, and other creative types. It might even save your vocal chords from an argument, or your checkbook from divorce fees.

Are you ready? My husband does not like my writing.

Lest you think he’s a heartless, insensitive lout, I want to jump to his defense. He likes me, he’s proud of me, and cheers loudly whenever I publish an article or get an editing job. But, you see, we are very different.

Aha.

He is the intellectual, deep-thinker of the family who loves to research, analyze, and plan. He enjoys delving into historical background, studying word origins, and—yawn—perusing National Geographic articles.

I, on the other paw, love to invent witticisms, ramble through emotion-land, and make statements that some mistake for lies when in fact they are exaggerations and embellishments. Making our bed each morning is a discipline for me. I’d rather read, blog, or slide across the kitchen floor on my way to find Cookies & Cream bars for my breakfast.

My articles and books, which reflect my nutty personality, are too fluffy and touchy-feely for his taste. Too subjective, he'd say. And of course, I took this personally.

I’d cry, shout, and accuse him of not caring or not supporting my writing career. He’d deny it. It was ruining any joy I had in writing and publishing. Not to mention our lovely, 36-year relationship.

As I was washing dishes one day, this thought slapped me in the brain:

I don’t particularly enjoy his style of writing either. There is nothing wrong with it; it just doesn’t suit my personality. So, why can’t we accept each other’s differing tastes, and love one another for the unique creatures—I use this word loosely—that God made us?

Large sigh of relief.
I won’t pretend we put our boxing gloves away and never used them again. But that one little thought—now I realize it was the Holy Spirit—helped me to take this whole issue less seriously.

And that has made a HUGE difference in how I perceive my DH’s response—or lack of it—to my gift.

Now that you’ve heard my confession, how do you feel? Do you have someone in your life that you love very much, who just doesn’t get you, and your gifts? Can you decide to be friends anyway? I hope so.

Because we only own two pair of boxing gloves. And we're not sharing.