I sit down to find some inspiration.
I look inside and feel my emotions ready to launch themselves at my fingertips.
I can feel myself welling up as I write this.
Do I dare speak of the sadness?
Of what could never be?
Would I look foolish, weak, or unable to defend myself if I did?
When I sit down to type these words, I can already feel my heart constrict in fear that the truth may be more brutal in the written word.
Can I put pen to paper?
Or finger to keyboard?
Or even say the words inside my head?
Does it make it more real if I put these innermost thoughts to the public and let them have their say?
If my family ask me what's wrong?
If my followers like this post?
I can't tell.
But right now I need you all to know that there are secrets even my writing will not be privy to.
Sore spots that hurt my heart if I graze them.
Does that make me a bad writer?
Yet another question I cannot answer.
Maybe I should be pushing myself out of my comfort zone.
Maybe I should make myself cry from the truth of my words.
But writing is my safe space. How can I breach that level of trust with myself?
I don't know.
But I want you all to know that every single interaction I have had as a writer has kept me going.
Sometimes I'll see that you've connected with the emotions I put out there.
And that makes me happy!
Maybe I am writing correctly?
I don't know.
But it feels right.
And that's good enough for me.