There is Freedom to be Found in Vulnerability

There was a time in my life where I wrote freely online. And everything was straight up.  There was no sugar-coating anything. I was 100% with everything going on with my life.

Dreams, thoughts, hopes, aspirations, lessons.

Sex, drugs, love and hip hop.

Family problems, therapy, abuse, depression, anxiety, eating disorders, school.

And I wrote about how I was getting over a lot of my problems and what I was learning throughout the process. It was quite revealing, but I didn’t see it that way. I simply enjoyed the freedom I felt in expressing the rawness of life and while still bleeding saying BUT I’M GOING TO MAKE IT BECAUSE I AM NOT QUITTING ON MYSELF.

There was a point in college where I was completely out of alignment and a different set of addictions hit heavy. I needed to express my desire for recovery in every aspect of my life while holding myself accountable for it. My blog held my journey.

A few months later I got a phone call from someone very dear to me at the time. My posts were being found and read by people all over the world and it finally reached his awareness. Aaand his parents. Apparently someone sent it to his parents to read. Which didn’t go over to well for him since it described a lot of stuff he didn’t want his parents to know.

I called my sister freaking out, hoping she was by a computer to quickly take down the blog before he could read everything. But she wasn’t home and by then time she was, it was too late. Needless to say, there was a lot of screaming. And crying. And apologies. Well, screaming from his end. Crying and apologies from mine.

I remember his dad telling me that after all of the terrible things I have been through, it is amazing to see how I have learned from it all and turned into who I had become… that it was all incredibly inspiring.

I half smiled and looked down, still ridden with guilt over what happened and how it has affected my relationship. I didn’t allow what he said to sink in. At the next chance I got, I quickly proceeded to delete over two years of my life.

It has been 11 years since that incident and it wasn’t until last week that I realized that this story existed as a block in my mind and kept me from starting another blog. I knew I could help others going through the same things I have gone through, but the fear of rejection that I may receive online from my stories kept me caged. I was half showing up in the world and I knew it. My inability to be 100% vulnerable was keeping me small. 

Funny how fear can create this power that can keep us down if we listen to it. 

Yes, there is ALWAYS a possibility for the rest of my life that someone is going to reject me in some way. And though that fear may very well exist, I shouldn’t let the possibility of a few negative voices keep me from living in and expressing my raw truth through any medium I choose, regardless how ugly that truth may seem. Because what may be deemed ugly lies a lot of beauty. And what lies beyond that fear is worth more to me– and others– than being held back by it.

512b6a26-2My life is my message, just as much as your life is your message. Life has given me challenges that I could not only handle, but also transcend and thrive from. Who am I to not to share my story?

Fear is a cage. There is freedom to be found in vulnerability. And so much more.

Here I am. This is me. And I am free.
Here I am. This is me. And I am free.



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