I write to practice vulnerability and authenticity.
Very rarely do I edit my words. It's cathartic to have a space where I can metaphorically sit down and bleed onto a page. But in doing so, I know I open myself up to judgment; the prying eyes of human vultures. Everyone wants to see you when you are down. They want to know just how you fell down the cliff - was it something you could have prevented? Was it an accident? Or maybe you threw yourself over of your own volition.
Whatever the reason, they want the front-row seat to witness it for themselves. When the whispered rumors start, they want to have something to add to the conversation.
I know this. I accept this, as part of human nature.
And I know it's not always this way. Other people want to know when you are down so they can help you back up. They want to sit with you in your struggle and they find ways to identify with you and let you know that you are not alone. Some are more vocal about their support, and others are silently sitting on the sidelines whispering encouragement under their breath. I don't know who I love more. Both types of support mean so much to me.
As beneficial as it is for my soul to bleed out occasionally, I sometimes wonder if the benefits really outweigh the negative. I finally got my life back - in a really big way - and I'm basically throwing all my dirty laundry out for all to see. Sometimes I wonder what the point is.
When I read over my old entries (in this blog and in my paper journal alike), I'm pretty proud of myself. I'm proud of my honesty. I'm proud of the growth that has happened over the course of this past year. I'm reminded of just how scared I was during the beginning of all of this, and just how amazing everything has turned out. I'm really am in awe of how much I have been loved and cared for, even when I couldn't see it or feel it. So maybe there isn't a point to all of this. Or maybe the point is to simply have a space where I can remove thoughts and feelings from my mind and my heart and put them into something else - a blank page on a computer screen; a crumpled piece of paper; the hands of someone who might not do honorable things with them. And then step back and let the chips fall where they may.
This is especially terrifying when I think of someone I'm just getting to know being given the keys to this information. Not that I would ever try to keep any of this from someone I was really interested as having as a part of my life, but it's a lot of fucking information to get at once. Considering I'm the person who lived it, I can understand how overwhelming it can be. What I think I fail to remember sometimes - and what I'm afraid others will miss - is that these are not stories about failure. Sure there is brokenness and pain, but more than anything - these little blips of emotion I choose to translate into words - are about triumph. They are about the adventure of finding myself again; my voice again.
So when that little asshole fear starts lying and telling me I'm not worth it, I will always choose to push back. Never again will I let the lies of fear dictate who or what I am supposed to be. I won't be silenced by the fear of being inadequate, or his lies that I'm broken or damaged. I will retreat, when needed, to the place where I translate these blips of emotion, as a way to remind myself of my utter awesomeness. Of my honestly and vulnerability and my strength. Of all the qualities I look for and seek out and admire in others - I will see them in myself. I will continue to believe that I'm worth it, no matter what has happened in my past.
I'll take a few deep breaths, look around and see the truth, and simply push "Publish".
Fuck you, fear. You have no place here anymore.