I have been all over the place lately.  My writing has taken an odd turn, a turn I am not comfortable with.  I don’t feel like I am writing for me anymore.  It seems as though I am putting out words for other people, to reach a goal that I don’t know if I wanted to attain in the first place.

I am known to put a ton of pressure on myself.  To set very high expectations for what I think I should be doing and what *I think* people expect of me.  When in reality the people that love and know me just want me to be me.  To do for me what soothes and makes me and my inner self feel cared for.

So I stepped back from those things that I felt I were pressuring me.  But then I started to get defiant about my writing.  It was a one day, hormone induced, mid life (well 32 year old) crisis.  I started to feel like everything I am doing with my words is shit.  Like “why AM I EVEN DOING THIS” is what I was screaming in my brain.

I started writing a post that is about a very important topic to me, one that I want to bring out and share my thoughts and feelings on my blog but is now the time I had to ask myself.

Or is now the time when I really focus on sharing my raw, vulnerable story.  The pieces of me that I have not yet shared; shared in part or have kept locked tight for fear of what people would say.

Sharing ones story is fearful in any atmosphere.  I believe when it comes to the blogosphere that fear becomes even bigger because of who may find that blog and take their own perspective to it and shoot the writer down.  I’ve had that happen only slightly and she never left a comment, kept saying she was going to but never did.

I have a story, a very colorful one as a like to tell people to make it seem funny or less painful.  There or so many pieces of me that I could write out here and share with you but how would you, as my readers, as my friends and as the people who I know love the me you see now; how would you react if I told you the ALL?

I wrote out my story once, for therapy.  This was when I first started seeing her, so roughly two years ago.  It was 21 typed pages long.  It took two, 1 hour session to read it.  My therapist cried and I felt nothing, from what I remember.  I still have the document saved, I don’t think I’d go back and read it because it’s not really my story.

It is, it’s the events but it’s not the emotions, it’s not the depth and the underbelly of what really happened that lead to those events.  There’s no emotion in writing out the whole thing from beginning to end.

I think that’s why here, in this space I call my own, my Truth Be Told that I have to tell it chunks so I can show you all the emotions, the darkness, the messiness; the digging in the dirt and the why as best I can.

I want to eventually share with you why I am pro-life, pro-choice and pro-woman.  I want to tell you my story of how I came out of being so totally anti-homosexuality to seeing and believing that everyone is a child of God regardless of who they love and marry.  Now I see that accept and loving ALL humans because we all have worth and value is the choice I have made.

After some deep soul searching yesterday……

Okay that’s a lie.  I had a fat Del Taco flat bread chicken taco and potato cheese poppers that I dipped in some delicious ranch dressing, talked with a couple of dear soul friends and finished my Anne Lamott book I realized that right now I need no WANT to keep with sharing my heart, wherever that leads.

I have a story I want to tell you however I am going to post it as a separate post, because of the emotion and depth involved.

I hope you’ll step in with me, to me, to who I am and all my messy pieces.

As Always,