I am only a week into sharing my heart with the world and I already feel like I have been dragged through the mud like a helpless animal, cold, damp ground beneath my limp body, branches and rocks scraping and scratching at my flesh, helpless, and out of control…you get the picture.
But why do I feel this way? I have yet to be attacked. I have yet to have anyone say, “hey your writing sucks” (it’s bound to happen eventually), I’ve encountered nothing but support and surprise from my friends that didn’t know I was hoarding this arsenal of blog content in my head.
So why in the past week have I cried? Why in the past week have I thought…what am I doing? I’ve considered multiple times deleting everything and second guessed every post I make. What is holding me back and what held me back for the last ten years since I stopped writing?
One word. Fear.
Fear of failure. Fear of success. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of not being understood. Fear of what my husband will think. Fear of what my friends and family will think. Fear of what my children will think someday. But what do I think?
I have spent years being afraid. Years hiding within myself. Years hiding behind others. I want something that is mine.
I have a voice and I have never felt so much passion in my life than when my fingers are madly typing on a keyboard. I love to write.
I may not be the best writer in the world. I may ramble at times and take forever to get my point across. I may be misunderstood. But I can no longer let fear dictate my passion and drive.
I want something that is mine.