Sometimes I wonder if my willingness to express so openly with the world will come back to haunt me. That my words will be used against me (as some have already taken pleasure in doing) because it's easy to do when I lay my heart on the line and keep a public and accessible record of my thoughts and process for everyone to read and potentially judge.
It's easy to be an asshole from the comfort of your couch. It's easy to dissect another when you're unwilling to look at yourself. It's easy to mock the bold, isn't it? Easier than being bold yourself. Easier than taking the risk of being vulnerable with another, let alone the world.
Sometimes when I look back at the things I write I wonder why I'm so willing to expose myself in the way that I do. Post-writer hangover. But the reality is that I never choose the words that end up written. They're already there inside me bubbling up to the surface. My job is simply to get them from "in here" to "out there" while they speak to me because they'll soon return to wherever they came from if I don't. I catch them while I can.
I choose to receive what's coming. I choose to make those expressions public. But I don't choose what comes out or how or when. I have no control over that. I just get out of the way.
I've never "thought" of what to write. Ever. The words are always there inside me waiting to be delivered somewhere else. I'm the messenger; not the creator. That's the artist's way.
My words are a feeling inside me. A restless energy. An agitated vortex of pre-written lines that needs to be tended to if I'm to feel relief from it. Not later. Now. So I always listen and obey.
And it's only after I've expressed what needs expressing that I feel "done" and content. That I feel a sense of relief - much like a smoker inhaling and then exhaling. Only after that process of getting all the words out do I feel whole and complete and that I've adequately done my duty for the day. And then I go on living until I'm beckoned once again to pour my heart out to the world.
I always write on my personal Facebook page first. It's my safe spot to sort my heart and mind. It's only afterwards that I transfer things to my blog and other sites for the rest of the world to consume.
Almost all of my writings have made it to my blog but a few remain solely on my personal Facebook page. Some pieces I need to keep close to my heart. Like the one on my sexual abuse. That was one of my most powerful pieces and it received the largest response of anything I've written online, but it's still not something I feel prepared to give to the world. I will some day. Not today.
But mostly what I want to say is how grateful I am for the freedom to express. It's a luxury I don't take for granted. Women were not always "granted" such freedom. Many still aren't. And many more don't grant themselves this gift. But your voice and your story is meant to be heard.
I love being in a time and place that supports my natural flow and tendencies, and in a technological age that allows me to spread my musings far and wide from my cozy little bubble.
I also love that I'm as comfortable as I am sharing my truth. I'm told it's rare and courageous and strong. But for me it couldn't be another way. It takes no effort to be myself. It would take effort to silence what my soul is longing to say.
And I especially love that my words don't fall of deaf ears. They're received by engaged hearts.
And I love that me being me helps you be more you.
All my love,
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