It’s been hard for me to write. Inspiration presents itself in spurts. I try to tell myself various excuses as to why it’s so hard to get my thoughts out:
- because I am having to re-discover who I am
- because I no longer know who you, the reader is
- …or that because I do know exactly who you the reader is, and choose to remain silent
- because my writing pieces now seem to wander…that the process of needing to find my voice has begun all over again
I also tell myself that part of my hesitation to write is because I fear that somewhere along the way I will find myself trying to explain away parts of myself, or even worse, justify those parts.
In April of last year I read a series of books 📚 that helped me develop a kindness for myself that I did not previously have. Somewhere within that journey I found a self acceptance. It wasn’t a solo act - the acceptance. Rather, it surprisingly came from those around me appearing to simply say “fuck what strangers think of you”. I say it’s surprising because with the many changes that have happened over the course of the last two years, a sense of isolation has settled within me. Sometimes I easily forget that I am not alone…or as alone as I may feel.
It’s a strange experience because there is no single triumphant or devastating outcome: it’s both. There are parts of me that are more confident and hopeful than ever. And there are parts of me that have become quite reclusive and timid. And lord…if you only knew how very much I want out. “Out from what?”
(I think this also a part of the journey: how do I speak my mind fairly and accurately without alienating myself? Or better yet, how do I determine the safety of the spaces in which I choose to speak my mind? And more resolutely: understanding that not everyone should have access to my mind.)
It sounds romantic, libertine even…to pull inward to oneself so as to become stronger, forgoing the lame exercise of worrying what others think. But I am still a woman and while a ‘devil may care’ attitude may carry me some places, there remains a gun at my back also…and the trick seems to balance a flirtation with the trigger finger, but not anger it enough to pull.
I have nothing revolutionary to share. Nothing that’s going to shed light or clarity or encouragement. Though I am sure that those thoughts are in here somewhere. Actually, I know that they are…because I’ve experienced them…I’ve felt them. Yesterday, and today, and last week, and month…you get the point. I think the biggest takeaway is that today, I actually got something out. I got something down. I wrote a thing.
I think that’s all that has to matter for me today.