So yesterday I told people about my blog.
And almost had a panic attack doing so. I have a hard time opening up to people, which those who are closest to me find ironic. I talk all the time. I'm always telling stories about my life. And people think they know me.
But thinking of all the people who I talk to, there is no one who truly knows me. And that is ok, because I don't even know myself. I feel like my life is a puzzle, and I give people I trust different pieces of the puzzle with each story I tell. Which really is the way I like it, I crave to be understood, but I don't think as long as I'm here on earth I can be understood.
Because my life here on earth is just a chunk of my life, so how can I truly be understood if all I remember is 19 years of eternity?
Regardless, I share pieces of myself with everyone, in the hopes that people will be able to piece together who I am, and hopefully let me know what they find, because I don't know. But this blog, the struggles I've talked about and will talk about, those are the puzzles pieces I keep right next to my heart. These ones I don't just hand out to everyone.
Part of it is a fear of being judged, of being misunderstood, and part of it is that there is a difference between stories about my childhood and pieces of my soul and identity.
However, I need to be brave. I'm not courageous, I fight an internal battle everyday to face the world. And this right here, this blog, is my fight to be courageous.
So world, here is my soul, laid bare for you to examine and judge.
All I ask is you be kind, and I will keep writing, whether you like it or not. 😘
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