You might have noticed some odd activity on my blog of late. Notices of new posts written years ago. Password protected posts. Bad links to old posts. This began when recent followers became interested in my archived posts, which date back to the birth of this blog in 2011. I decided to go back and have a look myself.
I cringed. I found some of the posts so embarrassing, in fact, I changed their setting to “private.” Out of sight/site, out of mind.
Today, with the ultimate goal of converting my blog into memoir, I was working on exporting all my posts and related comments to a Word document via BlogBooker. But the application would not pick up the private posts, so I converted them back to public. Apparently WordPress thought some of those posts were new, and sent out a notice to followers. The cringe-worthy posts, no longer buried deep in an archive, are in my face. In your face.
My first reaction was to immediately set to work password protecting the more objectionable posts. My second reaction was to be brave and leave them up, but provide some context.
I began this blog in 2011 while dating a man I refer to as Mack. It was the second blog I started while dating him. The first was titled The Accidental Sugar Mama, which I abandoned due to its self-limiting title. When I began the blog, I knew nothing of tags and categories. I just wrote. Mack, also a writer, was my sole audience. The comments on the early posts, while appearing to come from a variety of readers, were all Mack.
In the aftermath of the inevitable breakup, which I finally accomplished for good in late 2011, it became clear to me that Mack was an abusive, manipulative narcissist. When I read these posts, I look back at my former self and find it difficult to understand why she couldn’t see through the blatant and evident bullshit. But such is the nature of emotional abuse and manipulation. Given my family history, it’s not surprising I fell prey.
Mack followed my blog for many months after the breakup. Nevertheless, I did my best to not self-censor. At times he would post comments in typical narc-style. I didn’t publish them. Seven months after I ended my relationship with Mack for good and while working on recovery and healing, my oldest brother died. Six months after that, my dad died. Five months after that, my other brother died. I wasn’t writing about Mack any longer, and he stopped following me.