Brené Brown has this technique that she teaches where you give yourself permission to do something, you write it down on a piece of paper and you slip it into your pocket.
A real-life permission slip.
When I started this blog I said that I was going to write my reality and the fact of the matter is I’m almost two months in and I have two very polished blog posts up.
Aren’t they so pretty? (Insert note of sarcasm here.)
Not my complete reality.
While I’ve read that we should ‘write from our scabs and not our open wounds’ I do have to admit to something - I need to write. I have written at least 5 posts in the past week and fear has stopped me from posting them.
I’ve been writing my heart since I was so little it didn’t make sense. I can remember writing before I even knew what it meant. I just knew that words made sense.
I now know that writing allows me to process what’s happening while also allowing me to feel as though I’m helping someone, somewhere, feel less alone in their journey as well. That’s what words have always done for me.
I need to write………
I need to write about my failings as a Mom and how damn confusing it can be- even after a decade in.
I need to write about how it feels to learn that you can communicate with the spirits of people who have passed away.
I need to write about what it feels like to be a plus-sized yoga teacher in an industry that rarely shows us.
I need to write about how I’ve lost friends, been a shitty friend, miss friends, and how damn hard friendships are in your 40’s.
I need to write about my career confusion, business dreams, and all that comes with both of those things.
I need to write about how hard and amazing it is to be an extra-sensitive person in a world. Add in the fact that you’re an extrovert and that adds in a whole other level of confusion.
I need to write about having a life-long relationship with disordered eating and what happens you decide to stop- while being fat.
I need to write about what it feels like to have an entire segment of your family hate your guts.
I need to write about how hard it is to navigate your life-long beliefs as a feminist democrat ally in a world where issues are no longer in hiding and I’m no longer turning a blind eye.
I need to write about it all.
Grief. Girlfriends. Marriage. Motherhood. Mental health. Debt. Dreams. Jobs. Judgement. Families. Fat. Feminists. Spirits. Sensitivities. Politics. Prose. Yoga. Yearnings.
All of it.
Being a writer who works in the online space, I ‘know too much’. In this age of internet marketing and ‘celebrity’ creation it’s easy to know too much and get wrapped into the world of perfectionism.
I work in the world of amazing copy, marketing strategy, bestselling books, social media communities clicks comments courses and all the things.
It has paralyzed me. (And just so we’re clear, please don’t come at me with grammar corrections. I’ll tell you right now- I don’t care. Stop that. It’s rude. The end.)
I’ve been riding around town in my Mom taxi life and the words for post after post come into my head and my first thought is, “I can’t share about that. Not just yet.”
Forget it. I can’t wait any longer.
It’s time to write about life. My life. Your life. How complicated and beautiful and harrowing and confusing it all is.
So as a writer I’m going to write. Join me if you like. Read a few words or none at all. Sign up for my email list or not.
I just need to write.
I guess I just needed to write my own permission slip. Consider this it.