Filter

I was born with a brain-to-mouth filter. It was genetically implanted from my mom, who is the nicest woman and doesn't (hardly) say anything bad about or to anyone. As I've grown older, I've noticed my filter getting clogged and not quite working anymore. It used to prevent me from saying things to people that might hurt feelings or cause friction.

My mom gasps in horror when I tell her things I say. She gets that oh-no-what-did-you-say-now-to-embarrass-me-and-how-are-you-my-daughter-with-that-mouth look and searches for a blank note to send to the person who most recently was subjected to my venom/sarcasm/questioning.

I, on the other hand, welcome this lack of a filter. I feel liberated. Mischievous. And real. Yes, fake-smile cheerleader Suzanne does still exist, happy and bubbly and all happy happy joy joy I have a great little boy! But there is another Suzanne under there, too - one who doubts and fears and makes fun and watches too many episodes of rerun sitcoms. Mean girl Suzanne. She does exist. Hear her roar!

One lady at a Show Low wrestling tournament last December did hear me, but I blame that on the psycho pregnancy hormones. Without them, and with my filter out of commission, I'm ready to take on the in-laws who ignore my very presence now.