This is weird, you know. Posting my soul for the internet to see right through. Sharing my hopes, fears, and vulnerabilities that could get used against me.
I’m on a stage, standing naked, for an audience of strangers. Looking for a few waves of support from the crowd.
Why do i do this?
No, seriously. I’m asking — why do I do this?
Yes, it’s therapeutic to write my thoughts onto the page. But a diary would save the same purpose. Yes, it’s fun to get encouraging emails or supportive comments. But the risk of nasty or hurtful replies can cut deep.
I am a writer, but who am I writing for? You? Me? Faceless readers who read in silence?
The quiet can be deafening. I know people are reading, but who… and why? Are they here to love, listen, and respect? Or are they here to judge, criticize, and hate?
I write from love. I write from my inner self. I write from the child pose of my consciousness.
Please read from that same space. Or skip my page. Or maybe read without judgement.
I’m doing the best that I can. You’re doing the best that you can. Let’s give each other some grace.
Hugs and bigger hugs❤️