I've blogged here off and on for several years. It began as a challenge to document gratitude and joy in my day to day to day life. It generally has maintained that theme, but at times I have tried to make it something it isn't (i.e. food blog, craft blog, photography blog). This is a space where I do want to share the joys of life, as well as the struggles that give birth to that joy. I want authenticity and honesty at the forefront of what I post here. I've held back on what I do share because honestly, sometimes it's messy and jumbled and doesn't make sense.
But writing is what helps me make sense of the uncertainty and the doubt and the fear. Writing gives me perspective on the beauty that is intertwined with the pain. Writing helps me keep a sense of humor. Writing is obviously a very personal thing, but it keeps me connected with others. Sometimes it is easier for me to express myself with words on a page than to form sentences verbally.
We all need to be heard and understood. Sometimes things are complicated and difficult to express. Our gremlins get in the way, blocking the flow of words through their tactics of judgement and shame. I personally have a self-critic that has a definite mocking tone. She is on constant alert of when I may make myself vulnerable in any way at all. She rarely lets up, and it is a perpetual battle of what to say and what not to say. This applies to writing as well. I have phases where I don't have any freedom in my writing. I stop myself from writing truth because I'm afraid of what someone might think if they possibly stumbled upon my words.
Even as I write that sentence I'm not sure if that is completely accurate. I don't write truth because I'm afraid of my own inner critic. It isn't about other people reading my words. It all about keeping that voice comfortable and satisfied. I'm afraid of that voice that sits on my shoulder or in my heart or in my head. I'm afraid of being vulnerable, even if that vulnerability is just in myself. For as long as I can remember I've been building a "construct" of protection built of shame and guilt and self-hatred. It keeps me isolated. It keeps me living in fear and anxiety. It keeps me depressed. It is built of lies and false expectations of who I am "supposed" to be.
But there's a real girl trapped in there. The light in her heart glows from within the construct. Sometimes the flame is strong and she climb through the brambles of thorny shame and lying voice. Her creativity flourishes and she can share her gifts.
But there are days like today. Days where nothing seems to quiet that cackling of the self-critic. (She actually has been given a name, but today we'll just call her S). She criticizes everything that I think and feel, and makes sure I know about it. Embarrassment and the shame that lies beneath it are emotions that I feel deeply and that I feel often. It takes almost everything out of me, almost.
But writing is a gift that I've been given. I may not have the motivation to begin writing. Tears may be stinging at the corners of my eyes the entire time I am writing my thoughts, but somehow writing is soothing. It takes the dark, destructive thoughts out of my mind and puts them on to paper or into a computer.
I want to make an attempt to use this space more frequently. There is freedom in truth, and I need to write my truth. I need a space to process the struggles I deal with as well as the the joys. I want to express gratitude and also learn to walk in acceptance of the broken pieces.
Stay tuned for more truth…