Sometimes I wonder why I so willingly bare my soul for complete strangers to read. Why do I pour my tears out in writing? Why do I share my fears and secrets? Albeit not all, or even most, of it. But even so, I bare.
I have never been one to shy away from telling my story. I have never been ashamed of the storms that rage war underneath this pale skin.
Perhaps it is because, more often than not, I feel misunderstood, and so a part of me desperately writes – in the hope that somebody will read, and understand me.
After all, all I have ever longed for was to be listened to. To be understood.
I cannot even begin to explain to you the salvation that I find in writing. In taking all these aches within me and turning them into something beautiful. I spend most of my nights furiously writing, trying to capture every ounce and iota of thought and emotion. Sometimes beautiful poetry comes out of it. Other times, only a jumbled up rambling mess. It makes no difference to me anyhow.
I just don’t want any of it to have been in vain.
“When we share our stories, what it does is, it opens up our hearts for other people to share their stories. And it gives us the sense that we are not alone on this journey.” – Janine Shepherd
Hey you. Whatever your struggle is, you aren’t alone. I am here too. Breathing in the same grace. Clutching at the same hands. Isn’t it funny? How frail we are. But together, we will overcome.