Yes, I can see it. I feel it with each thing I write. Sadness. There are a lot of emotional things I’ve written about here. If you feel sadness when you read the things I write… I’m not sorry. I won’t take on your sadness. That’s for you. If you feel emotion, then I’m touching something in you… my words are speaking to you. If that’s too uncomfortable for you and it’s all you can see, then this isn’t the place for you to be right now.

Why do I write about sad things? It’s simple… I don’t. What I do, is write about the things I know. If I want to write well, then I have to feel something about what I’m writing. I can’t fake it. For years, I have yearned to write… but I was afraid to write what I knew. I was afraid I might hurt someone. I was afraid I might be judged. I was afraid people would think I was looking for attention. I was afraid people would think I wanted them to feel sorry for me. I was afraid it might affect someone in a negative way. I was afraid my truth would be called lies. I was afraid for people to see the real me.

For months and months after my mom passed away last year, there was this voice that kept saying… “Write.”

I was searching for a way to resolve all that I was feeling. I was searching for the answer to my confusion. I was searching to know what I was now supposed to do with myself. I was searching for an answer that had always been inside of me. Write.

The voice was relentless. It didn’t just speak to me once. Every time I broke down, it spoke to me. “Write.”

I ignored it so many times. One day, I decided to stop ignoring it. I could feel the presence of my mom on many occasions telling me it was okay. “Just write.” That’s what she told me. She put into my mind, the knowing of all her writings. For years, I wondered how she survived. How did she survive loneliness? How did she survive abandonment? How did she not want to end her life? How did she have hope for anything? How did she keep pressing forward? How did she keep living? How did she live every single day with her life? She wrote. She didn’t just read a book… she wrote in it… all over it. She wrote in notebooks, journals… anything that had space for her to write.

When I finally gave into the voice telling me to write, I knew this wasn’t just a temporary thing that I would do a few times, or just in that moment. The voice wasn’t telling me to write something in that moment. It was telling me that I was to write… and not stop. Write everyday. Stop denying my gift. Stop denying what was within me. I believe with all my heart, that every human is bestowed gifts from their creator. Yet, I could only deny mine. I denied the gift that I felt from a young age. I shut it off. I blocked it.

I knew every action had a consequence. I wasn’t just scared of negative consequences… I was scared of every possible consequence. What if people like what I write? What if they ask me for more? Will I be able to give them more? What responsibility will this put on me to those who read what I write? What if something is triggered within someone who reads what I’ve written? Will they reach to me for support? Will I be able to give them the support they need? What if people praise me for my writings? Will that change me? Will I become self-centered? Will I think I am above others? Will I think it is about me instead of knowing it’s about God and what He is saying through me? Will I claim the words as mine, instead of His? Will I lose my focus and begin searching for money from my gift? Will I use the gift with the wrong intent? Will it become about something different? If money comes from it, will I lose sight of my purpose? Will I become greedy? Will I be irresponsible with my gift? Will He take it away from me? The spectrum of questions in my head were endless.

I resolved to do my best to let go of my fears. Stop focusing on them. Stop letting them distract me. I decided if I was going to start writing and sharing what I wrote, I would have to make a commitment to myself to not let outside influences play on my fears. Don’t let what others think or say stop me from continuing to write. Don’t give power to the negative thoughts that come from the one who would have me fail. The one who would not want me to touch the lives of others. Rather choose to have faith, that the promptings I have felt to write, are from a loving Heavenly Father that would have me share who I am, my experiences, because He needs me to.

I am writing to tell my truth. I am writing to let people see that what we perceive on the outside, does not tell us anything about what is on the inside. I refuse to pretend that the only thing that matters is showing the world that I look happy and well put together on Sunday afternoon. I don’t want to participate in that contest. I want to be over here… telling people the real stuff. My greatest desire is to reach out to others and let them know they are not alone. I want to be accessible to people so they can feel supported and understood.

My writing cannot be about trying to please someone else. Pleasing others is a life long habit of mine. Do what they want and maybe they will like you. Do what they want so they won’t want to leave you. Do what they want so they will give love to you. That’s a hard habit to break.

I remember being about 18 years old and my brother told me that I was a fake person and that I just adapted and became whatever I thought everyone else wanted. It really hurt my feelings at the time. I thought that if that’s how I really was, that meant there was nothing of value in being me. It felt like if that was true, it meant I was faking who I was. It meant that even if people liked and accepted me like I wanted them to, they really didn’t because I wasn’t me. I was a chameleon… adapting to preserve myself. Changing color so that I would blend in and people would believe that I belonged there.

I think I’ve had this constant internal battle of needing to blend into the background so I could be part of things and not be left out or left behind, while at the same time, wanting to let the bright color within me out, so that I could feel genuine love for who I was. Most of the time I chose the blending. Don’t rock the boat. Just ride the flow.

Every once in awhile I let the color show. I’m getting to a place where I’m gradually allowing the colors of ME to show more and more. I know not everyone will see the colors that are here… it all depends on their perspective. Some people will look and see only darkness, which will make them turn away or back to the facade. Others will look at my tears, see the light I’m shining on them and see the rainbow.