I Accepted Silence Because I Was Afraid of Being Vulnerable

Self |Mental Health

I Moved Into Speaking My Truth

Photo by Angelina Litvin on Unsplash

Why am I not writing what I’m thinking?

That’s the real question, isn’t it ?

I’ve been holding back and playing small for a lot of reasons, but most of them are clearing away. It’s my time. It’s time for me to spew out the feelings and and experiences that are mine and mine alone.

I’ve been putting words on paper, but I’ve been using someone else’s methods as a way to kick start my writing.

Now, I’m not talking about plagiarism. I’ve been following the structure of some of my favourite authors as a writing practice. It’s been a great way to loosen up.

There’s one problem with that. I’m following a recipe. When I accept a writing challenge, it’s formulaic. And no matter how much the words resonate and how much I believe in what they say, they’re not my voice.

It’s time to get back into my body and listen. It is time to listen to my heart and put the words on paper. My hearts desires are waiting to be expressed.

I’m still afraid to write, but not as afraid as before.

I am no longer as afraid of what my family thinks of my writing. I still feel some of that fear deep down but I’ve gotten to the point where I can move on. Just clear the fear and continue with my life.

Move out of the rigid box that I’ve been in for so long.

Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

A few years ago, I discovered I’d been the subject of a binding in a past life. In exchange for the life of my child, I gave away my free will for that lifetime and all future lifetimes. Shit.

One thing about giving away your free will is you get quieter and quieter until you are living an invisible life. It’s almost like hiding in a coffin.

Think of that. I’ve been in a self imposed coffin, one of my choosing and I didn’t even choose a luxurious model for f*’s sake. I chose one with bindings and limits, one that required sacrifice and appeasement of the twelve who held me in their twisted wrappings for centuries.

I chose a coffin with a lid so thick and dark and heavy that no amount of prising that would take it off of me. It was a familiar burden. I felt it was a part of me. It was a burden I carried alone.

The binding carried such a strong compulsion that it was impressive I was able to get the help to clear it and get my free will back.

Then I climbed out.

I felt my way. I followed the whispers and secrets of the ancients and repeated the mantras. I repeated the clearings that were suggested, not imposed.

I made a choice to take the steps required to slide that heavy lid aside and let a little bit of light in. Once I saw that light; once my eyes adjusted to that small sliver of hope, I realized I wanted more. My voice got stronger and I was more determined. I stood a bit taller, straightened my spine and held my head a little higher.

I spoke the words in a louder voice and pushed the twelve away. I wrote my story. When the end of the story came, the sky was revealed to me in blazing colours like the sunrise at the lake and I knew I was on the right track.

It’s my time and I’m excited to begin.

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