I know this will get easier. Once I’m in the flow of writing with my soul leading the way, once I find our rhythm together (because blogging is never just about the writer). Once this happens it will be easier. I will write with confidence. With curiosity.
But today, as I sit to write my first piece with no restrictions, a piece that exists simple to share my life with you, I struggle.
Because where do I start?
Do I start with this morning when my sensitive and spirited boy fixated on something he couldn’t have and I had to focus every ounce of my energy on him, to give him the love and support he needed to make his way out the door to art camp without totally losing it?
Do I start with the oddness of living in my little hometown again, after 9 years away, this time with the reality that we are here to raise our family, the family we thought we would raise on the other side of the country in Vancouver?
Do I start with my gratitude for the changes in my life this past year – to now live without daily body pain, without financial struggles, without depression and loneliness? Do I share with you how beautifully my life has transformed?
Or do I start with how hard I still find it to identity as a “creative”, as a “writer”? That this was always my dream but one that felt so far off, like I would never really get there because the intensity of the fear was just too big to bare?
Where do I start with this? What do I need to write to satisfy my soul today and connect with you?
Today the fear feels deep.
Today I want to turn away from my “potential”.
Today I want to busy myself with client work and business building, hiding from the demands of my soul – the ones that are urging me to finally show up and be me.
Because isn’t it easier to play small? Isn’t it easier to be “good enough”? Isn’t it easier to do all the other things?
Let me tell ya, there’s a big ass load of clean laundry on the couch that is calling my name right now. Even though I’ve easily ignored it for an entire week, at this moment all I want to do is leave my computer behind and go fold mindlessly. Apparently I just have to try to write something meaningful to fall in love with house chores.
Funny how that happens.
It’s fucking scary to stand up and be yourself.
Here’s the thing, my whole life I’ve had a vision of myself that was crystal clear and fabulous – me as a strong, connected woman; one who was passionate and productive; physically fit and adventurous; a woman full of love and compassion for others, who honoured vulnerability and didn’t fear intimacy. And in this vision, always, I am a writer. A woman who writes important things – pieces that inspire, pieces that ask big questions, pieces that push readers to be their own best versions of themselves. The vision has always guided me, encouraged me forward. Through my darkest moments (and yes there have been many, we’ll get there in future posts I’m sure), I have had faith in this vision. I have trusted it. Trusted it to be the truth. That the only choice I had to make was how long would I wait.
And so my choice is: I will wait no longer.
With fear by my side (because I seriously doubt it will ever go away), I choose to step forward into my true vision of myself. Into the woman I know I am meant to be.
To write with soul.
To press publish.
To speak my truth.
To love deeply.
To dare greatly.
To take big risks.
To play big.
To know that I am worth it. To trust that I am more than capable. To have compassion when I feel like I am not.
So… I guess if I’m really going to do this, be the fabulous me I am meant to be – the passionate, loving, vulnerable me – I should go apologize to my sweetie for being a bitch this morning… sure sounds like something my fabulous self would do, doesn’t it?
This shit ain’t easy. But it’s real.