I’m a hot mess. My sleeves are soaking wet from where I’ve wiped my leaking eyes. My heart is in a million pieces because it’s broken. A mess. I’m refusing to put my daughter to sleep simply because I want someone else to be in the room with me as I experience the feels. I’ve been emoting on twitter because dealing with all of my emotions in my head gets a tad bit overwhelming. For the past week, I’ve been forced to take a long hard stare into my soul. I’ve been led to examine my entire thought process, my decisions, my intentions, and the person that I claim to be. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a hot mess, I’m selfish, I’m somewhat of a rebel and I’m OK with all of that.
Sometimes being a writer is hard. Constantly thinking about what to write so that your readers are impacted and satisfied. Wondering what your stats will look like after posting. Contemplating how to word your opening sentence so that it entices others to read further. This morning, I was doing my usual song and dance. Asking myself what I was going to write on the blog. Then I thought back to the days when I used to write for me. I wrote because the blank page seemed like the perfect place for my inner feelings. The blank page never judged me or misunderstood my intentions. The blank page didn’t argue about my words or whether I was correct or not. It just listened. It just let me unload without interrupting me or giving me the “wrap it up” face. When I decided to be a writer, I tucked my selfish rants into the safety of the notes app on my iPhone while I used my blog for the polished, more cohesive collections. I never wanted to post on my blog if it didn’t have a solid and legitimate point. I never wanted to post anything that didn’t have a lesson. So even when I wasn’t sure of the point (like right now) I’d write until I found one.
Well today, I’ve decided to write for me. I’ve decided to write from where my heart is even if it makes no sense to the person reading. For the past couple of months I’ve been dwelling on the concept of being fearlessly authentic. I get so tired of code switching and censoring myself in different atmospheres. I get tired of holding back because others may be offended or confused by who I am. I’m tired of suppressing my desires simply because they go against what society (or those around me) deems acceptable. Simultaneously, being authentically me also means that I have to accept the parts of me that go against my desires. Like the fact that while I’d love to hide in the background behind my computer screen; I wasn’t created to do so. I wasn’t created to be the girl that sat in the corner hiding her thoughts in a notebook while the world was longing for the truth I was created to share. I’ve been questioning majority of the things I believe about life, love and God simply because I can’t remember why I believe it beyond the fact that someone said it to me. Or because it’s just the societal norm. I’ve come to a place of rejecting popular beliefs about religion, Christianity, and church and am embracing what I know to be authentically God. In the midst of this place, I’ve encountered people that simply don’t understand me. People that see my way of life as strange or stupid. People that see my creativity as a waste of time. People that call my affinity for tattoos and piercings ludicrous. And now I’m just ranting. But the point of it all is that sometimes in life, even at 26, you have to stop for a moment and question yourself. Question why you believe what you do. Wonder what is really going on in your life. Decide who you desire to be and stick to it.
While on this journey of being fearlessly authentic, specifically within the last 48 hours, I’ve learned that there are people in my life that not only enjoy the authentic me, they are inspired by it. As crazy as it may sound, it’s been such a struggle to be myself. I’ve been afraid to be true because I was unsure if I was in the”right”. Unsure if I would be accepted. After talking to God about it, He assured me that I can’t be afraid to be “crazy” because it may be wrong. Being fearlessly authentic means doing what I know is right even when it looks wrong. Two great friends reminded me that the artists and revolutionaries that we praise today were not revered in their time. They were shunned and called unstable. I don’t know what is in store for my future. Nor do I know what impact will come from my life. But I do know that I have to love myself enough to know myself enough to be myself. Authenticity isn’t just important for what it does for others; it’s important for what it does for me.
So. If there was
a lesson in this, it would simply be to embark on your own journey of being authentic. Fearlessly authentic. Embracing what that looks like for you. Everyone has their own image of what that authenticity looks like; embrace the journey to learning and loving what that is for you.