Saturday, March 29, 2014

I struggle with opening up. With allowing myself to truly talk about what wants to come out.

I battle with maintaining my anonymity, With exposing flaws, weakness, scars. And I have a lot of scars. Scars that are part of fighting depression, of being the "good" girl. Anguish from writing posts and sharing photos, then, deleting them. I become vulnerable, and then, take it back. I struggle to hit send. I question whether I will allow a post to remain, if I revealed too much, if I am just "seeking attention." 

I go back and remove as much as possible, but sometimes it is too late. I am attempting to open, to be honest and real, to give myself the freedom and grace to share. But in the end, fear and discomfort come out, and I make things disappear. And I do not possess enough magic to make them reappear.

I see these admissions and I cringe. I cringe because this isn't writing. This isn't good enough. This isn't worth reading. I am used to being unread, but I feel foolish in sharing who I am and "where" I am because now, I have given you the opportunity to see the "wizard" behind the curtain. And now you will doubt my power. Because, I doubt my power. And if I doubt the power of my words, you will too.

Because in the back of my mind, no matter how true this is for me, no matter how honest and raw I have just now written,  I wonder if you are calling these words "streaking" and I want to put them all somewhere that you will never have a chance to read them. To protect them and never give anyone the opportunity to question me, my creativity, and my intentions. 

I feel these words coming out and they have no place to call home other than in my written journals. There they are safe. There I am not being judged. 

This is why I hide.


1 comment:

Rachel Haltiwanger said...

It's scary because it's important. These words are real and they aren't safe, and I am so glad you decided that they are worth it. Thank you for sharing.