Why I Write: Walking the Path to Me

"It's okay, I'll be strong for you." Said my wonderful girlfriend to me earlier this week (and many times throughout our relationship) as I sat, crying in a ball on the kitchen floor earlier this week. Those who know me will wonder, "Jeez... what happened... what did I miss?" The answer is simple... Nothing.

Nothing happened. Nothing terrible. No one died. No one was horrible to me. No one left me. I still have my job, my house, my family, my friends, all my cool things... I still have everything... Except my sense of self.

I've been in love with David Sedaris since I discovered his book, Holidays on Ice over ten years ago. I loved how he told stories about life that were honest, funny and complex. From there I became a fan of This American Life... and listening to people tell their stories and witnessing as the narrators come to grips with their experiences had a powerful effect on me. Initially, it made me jealous. I wanted to be that honest. I wanted to stop hiding. I wanted to be me and just be okay with that. I wanted to like me... but I didn't even know who I was.

I like to write. I love reading the journals I wrote as a teenager. It gives me the chance to take a step back and appreciate the journey.

Writing a blog offers the same benefits as journaling with the added perk of practicing being me in front of an audience.

I dance in my living room, sing loud when I'm alone, and have lively, opinionated conversations with myself when I'm the only one in my truck. But, put me in a room with other people and I can't stop wondering what you all think of every little thing I do... How vain... I know. I know you are not even remotely interested in 99.9% of what I do, but to convince myself otherwise feels like a lie.

My therapist calls this characteristic of mine social anxiety disorder. I hate that phrase. I hate the term disorder. It makes me feel broken... And yet, I need a way to except my damaged self image. The Japanese tradition of kintsugi is the art of fixing a broken pot by using gold to hold the pieces together so the pot becomes more beautiful and lets people embrace it's traumatic history. This speaks to me. The gold that holds me together are the wonderful people in my life... and sometimes, I even make my own gold.

So, I'm starting to think maybe I just won't call it a disorder... Perhaps I'm just still learning how to use my fingers and toes with confidence. We all have different paths, and some are longer and twistier than others (that's what she said!;)

Lately I've been reading this awesome book called Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way we Live, Love, Parent and Lead. I've only read a third of the book and have already broken down crying at least three times. This book is bringing me face to face with things that I brush under the rug and stow away in the dark corners of my psyche. I just need to share some of the quotes.

"It's crazy how much energy we spend trying to avoid these hard topics when they're really the only ones that can set us free."

Wow... that one hit me hard... I can't even begin to tell you how much my mental health and life in general improved when I finally told my current girlfriend (a.k.a. fiancée) that I like her. And with every other person we told, life became easier.

"We can't let ourselves be seen if we are terrified by what people may think."

My problem in a nutshell. Yet rather than come to terms with that, and learn to move past it... I just tell myself that I'm broken... that there is something wrong with me. I beat myself up... I become ashamed of myself.

"Yes, shame is tough to talk about. But the conversation isn't nearly as dangerous as what we're creating with our silence! We all experience shame. We're all afraid to talk about it. And, the less we talk about it, the more we have it."

And THIS is why I feel I must write this blog. Talking about my feelings and being vulnerable enough to connect with you is hard... I need to practice. I need to spend a couple of days a week, crafting a thoughtful entry, and then practice the courage to push the publish button.

Of course, I could just stand up and say, "This is who I am! If you don't like it, that's your problem!" Which kinda defined my adolescence... Talk about psychological projection! I didn't like me. And I tried to blame my self hate on everyone around me. I struggled struggle with anger... you should see my teenage current journals!

Throughout my life bits of myself have cracked... but I'm putting the pieces together and filling the cracks with kindness and acceptance. Now I practice saying, "I love the person I am, and have always been. My self worth does not wait for anyone's approval."