It’s been a long time since I’ve really written for me. A lot of years have gone by that I’ve felt a block, like the creativity was not there to produce anything special enough. I looked outward in order to build these constraints on what was ‘worthy’ of creating.
Even now, my fear resorts back to those self-imposed constraints. I started to become hesitant to even publish this blog because I started to doubt myself. Doubt my talents and my abilities. I felt for an instant that what I want to write here will be ‘too extra’ or ‘too emotional.’ No one will relate. No one’s going to understand me further than I’ve already felt misunderstood and I’ll look and feel like an idiot in my own process.
Who do I think I am? Who am I to publish a blog? Who would even want to read my stories? Why does it matter? Isn't this supposed to be for ME and what I decide is worthy and how I decide to show up?
I grew up believing being emotional was a negative trait. Feeling too much came with consequences of never being strong enough. Or good enough. Or worthy enough. This is what young girls are lead to believe from society. Just “man up” we're told. As an adult, being sensitive isn’t something you typically see on dating profiles. It translates to others as, “I only like to talk about my feelings and I’ll expect you to talk about them as well” or frankly, “that bitch is crazy, RUN.”
And I thought I was crazy. For a long time, I thought something was legitimately wrong with me and I repressed myself. I apologized for everything. Ask anyone I went to middle school with. My friends would always call me out on it. I was apologizing for everything I said. Everything I did that could be constituted as being ‘too much’ or ‘not right’ or ‘not good enough’. I apologized for being. For being an emotional girl, sensitive to other’s feelings and god forbid I make them uncomfortable, I felt I had to. I had no right to show up and be myself. Who did I think I was? What did I think I had to offer everyone else that so clearly had it all figured out?
Just like I did for my own creativity, I looked outward for how to be. I learned pretty quickly that appearing ‘good’ or ‘right’ by societal standards gained more public acceptance than being authentically yourself. I’ve held this with me right up to the moment of blowing up my entire life.
I. Cannot. Do. This. Anymore.
When we spend our lives seeking and performing, that’s the block. But before you can feel alive, you have to feel. Pausing and being with the stillness. It’s not about improvement. It’s about returning.
I have much to apologize for and will forever carry shame in other aspects of my life (though I'm also learning forgiveness, we’ll get to that) but I will no longer apologize or feel unworthy for being or creating.
Here I am, all 5’ 1” a little broken but still whole, raw, emotionally me. I feel everything. And right now, I am so fucking grateful that I can.