Mincing Words

I wrote two submission pieces this weekend, and posted a blog post for the first time in forever.  As I was getting ready for work this morning, I had ideas sparking left and right for other ramblings, and I could feel my excitement burning to be behind the keyboard again.

But there was also anxiety.

Anxiety over what I had already written this weekend and put out there.

What are people thinking right now? All five people that have read the most recent blog post. . . what are they actually thinking about me?

It threw me back to when I first shared my writing publicly, five years ago.  I was so, so concerned with the ones who would be critical, that I didn’t stop to think about the ones who might actually enjoy my words, or even find benefit from them.

Yesterday I wrote about self-acceptance, and self-love.  Those are hot topics right now, and rightly so. I think through this pandemic we have been forced to dig a little deeper into who we are as individuals and a whole lot of us kind of threw a middle finger up to society’s standards.  I think a lot of people can relate to the fact that their circle of ‘friends’ has diminished over the last couple of years.  I think a lot of us care more about what we need and what we want as opposed to what others need and want.  So, me writing about that and my personal journey and the conclusions I have drawn isn’t anything super controversial or shocking – we all have similar stories to tell, I have no doubt.

For five years I have refused to mince words and I have shared a lot of my trauma, giving access to my story to the world. I wanted to help people by sharing my story, so people would know that they’re not alone – we all have trauma, and it is possible to be okay with it. I have bared my soul, tearing open wounds that went down to my bones, in the name of healing and helping others heal. I’ve been pretty successful too. Every person that thanked me for my words gave me the confidence to keep putting my words out into the world.

I experienced a couple betrayals right smack dab in the middle of the pandemic that threw me off a little bit though. They were pretty heavy blows to my self-esteem and self-worth and made me question so much about my decisions and the path I was walking.  Not that I really felt I was doing anything wrong per say. . . I just wasn’t sure about the reasons why I was doing what I was doing. Other peoples betrayals made me question who I was as a person, and if that isn’t the definition of being reliant on others opinions, I don’t know what is. I got caught in a vicious circle of what-ifs and how-comes, and struggled with finding my way out.

I think that these betrayals sparked a need to reevaluate things though, and this is part of what made me shut down.  It made me look more closely at the people in my life and how open I was about my life.  Did I really need to put everything out there for the world to know about?  Did my every move need to be documented?  Why, exactly? Maybe I needed to keep some shit to myself. So, I disappeared for a while to see what I could hear without all the chatter of social media and the expectations of the world clouding my thoughts and feelings.

And here is where the anxiety is coming from, I would almost guarantee. I have been silent for so long that now that I am easing back into things, I’m a little nervous that another betrayal is on the horizon.

My words now could be held against me in the future, and that’s a kind of scary prospect.  I’m not sure why it worries me, because I am doing nothing more than living and speaking my truth – but maybe it’s too much.  Maybe I’m giving someone ammo.  People I trusted with my life betrayed me, who’s to say it won’t happen again?

But sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith.  Sometimes you just have to trust in the process of life. Sometimes you have to realize that there is a reason for everything and follow your gut and do what you feel needs to be done.

I can’t ignore the itch to share my thoughts.  I’ve been suppressing a lot and I’ve been secluding myself out of fear of what others may think.

I don’t have the ability to stay quiet to make others more comfortable. That’s just not who I am.

I keep writing in spurts.  There is zero consistency as I dig and tear open these parts of myself, as I allow myself to heal properly from the inside out.  I would like to hope that I’m nearing the end of the process so that I can get this part of my life back. I miss the satisfaction of the writing process. I can’t promise that I will get back to any sort of consistency, but just getting my words back out there and testing the waters is a step in the right direction.

For now, happy Sunday. Hopefully I’ll have more to share soon.

Photo by Mattia Ascenzo on Unsplash