I am giving myself much needed permission to write… whatever I need to write. I don’t always feel free to reach into the depths of my story, afraid of how my lack of eloquence or underdeveloped thoughts might be interpreted.
I can’t stand being misunderstood and because of that I sacrifice my most beautiful art.
For too long I’ve tried to appear like I’m some kind of expert or at least know what I’m talking about. I’ve also always attempted to have the voice of a skilled writer. But I am not either.
I am a human, one who deals with regret on the daily, swears in my kitchen, and wants only to love people and the world with her whole heart, but fails 99.9 percent of the time, and that is all.
I can no longer write for merely a figurative reader or my mom (hi mom!) or consider (as the professional writers tell me to do) what my audience needs.
This way of approaching the blank page, always having insightful or inspiring content to share, is stifling and unsustainable.
My tendency for years has been to tie up everything in a neat bow with a lesson or a sweet bite of wisdom at the end. But this doesn’t fit with who I am becoming or how I show up in my actual life on any day of the week. And it definitely does not reflect the incredible complexities of this human experience.
Life is harder than most of us expected it to be. I am convinced that you and I don’t need to be afraid to admit this, and in fact, we should all be doing it more.
You voicing the harsh, wild, crazy-making parts of life doesn’t make you an ungrateful complainer. Quite the contrary, you become in touch with yourself and your Creator when you bravely declare you feel totally incapacitated some (most!) days.
The difficulties, the depression, and the defeat are rhythmic waves pummeling us to our knees on an all too regularly basis. It’s a normal thing.
Why do we try and pretend it isn’t so?
Every day contains at least one (if we’re lucky!) encounter that serves to bring us back to earth, grounding us firmly in our sobering, unimpressive reality. There’s no shame in being in this fleshy body and living from a place of frailty and weakness. But how often we are tempted to show our sweet face and put together side, talk about our successes, and share only encouragement.
We are hurting ourselves and running from the inevitable drowning we all must go through.
Jonathan Martin reminds us in his book How to Survive a Shipwreck, “The waters that drown you are the same waters that will save you; and the same sea that is pulling you under is the sea that will make you new. The things you’ve been holding on to cannot keep you afloat any longer.”
So, from here on out I will write like I run- without an audience, for the well-being of my own soul, and the pure childlike joy of it. Which means my writing will likely sound more clunky and ragged, there will probably be the strong stench of sweat in the air, after all I cannot hide I am fresh from the trenches of life, but it will feel more like the me.
The me gasping for air but glad she’s alive for this adventure.