Every time I come back here to write, I tell myself the words will all sound the same. And yet, there seems to be an unending cycle at work in my life: seeing that which is no longer ‘me’ and letting it go. It begs the question: What IS me??
I had an interesting experience today–wholly with myself. I’m taking part in an upcoming project of ‘adopting’ LGBTQ children who are feeling unaccepted and unloved this holiday season. Our daughter is part of this community, and fortunately well loved and received within our family and her community. Many are not so blessed. Upon hearing about the project, I knew instantly I wanted to take part and so have been working on my written and spoken words. Writing has not been a challenge for me–it comes easily. There is a rhythmic flow to the words, they carry their own vibrations of love and grace. But when it came time to read out loud the words I’d written–it didn’t feel so comfortable. For one, the rhythmic flow of my writing seems painfully absent when I’m speaking. All the self-conscious triggers flow in. I was relieved to feel much more at ease reading out loud today than I did the first time I had to speak over a microphone via the web.
What I found troubling, though, is that my beautifully written heartfelt words felt empty as I voiced them. The magic was gone. I wasn’t flustered or upset, but the Observer within took notice. What resulted was a repeated edit and re-read of my letter, taking out what felt empty–surprisingly some of the sentences that talked about love most prominently. I’ve always been able to write about the deepest feelings of love in my heart, they’re REAL. But when I try to speak them, they fall out misshapen and without emotion behind them. FEAR perhaps? ‘Fluffy’ expression? I’m not certain yet. Thus far, I’m only the Observer in this game of seeing ME.
So I wonder, if you all feel this way at times too. Sometimes I’m frustrated that I don’t just GET there–living fully authentic, feeling at ease in my skin, able to be ME. Ugh. I can feel the angst within myself. And I also know that holding on to that angst and all the feelings that go with it only gives it power to grow. So I’m looking at it. We’re standing here together, my discomfort and me. What I realize now, at this point in writing this post–is that BOTH are part of me. Seeing my discomfort, recognizing and acknowledging the angst rather than railing against it–these bring it into the light. Otherwise it remains tucked away in my shadowy places.
This is my desire: to allow my voice to speak my truth. Not in a playground bully sort of way. I want to speak my truth with confidence, from a place of authentic expression, infused with benevolent grace and honoring myself and the Life Force present in us all. THAT’s what I want.