Today, I shared with my psychologist that I long to write but fear the fallout. He paused thoughtfully and asked, “What fallout?”
I replied, “I want to be an honest writer.. authentic in my thoughts, even when they’re hot takes. I fear that sharing my reality, rather than the expectation of my reality, could rile people up and cause problems.”
He responded, “Well, you could meet your audience somewhere in the middle.”
Therein lies my predicament.
As a middle child who was parentified, and a mediator by nature, I am tired of meeting people in the middle. Exhausted by it, really.
Words have power. They have consequence. There is risk in exposing your ugly, authentic truths. As a risk-averse, recovering people pleaser.. do I have the guts?
What is it like to be truly known when you’re more comfortable hiding in the listening position?
I have a voice I yearn to use. Do I love myself enough to follow through?
And who wants to listen to me? Who wants to know me, and why?
I’m no shining star. But maybe that’s the point.
I want impact, not chaos.
I want to be honest enough that it costs something to say.
All of my life I have been praised for insight, steadiness, and emotional intelligence.
I want to be witnessed. Perhaps it is time to stop editing myself into invisibility?