Conversation

There are more bloggers than there are people on the planet, it seems. There are people sharing, posting, chatting, tweeting, speaking, blogging, vlogging, and snapping about most of the same topics I write about – throw a dart at the internet and you’ll likely hit something on parenting, mental health, religious or social issues. I don’t fancy myself to have anything new to say. I have no illusions of my writing changing the world, but I have a deep hope that it could change something for someone. This isn’t about creating a following, this isn’t self-help or motivational writing.

This is about opening the door of conversation between me and you.

I write for us. I write because I need the therapy of bleeding words onto a page. I write because God is calling me to step out of shame and darkness; He’s carrying me into light. I write because God is calling me to an authenticity that we like to talk about but loathe to live out. He’s showing me that I can’t tear down stigmas while protecting and hiding myself. I write because the sharing of stories is powerful, because others have given me the gift of their stories and they have impacted me.

A few things you may want to know if you’re joining this conversation: 

It’s messy. This isn’t an essay or a book to be published. It’s not polished, it may be pretty raw, it may be uncomfortable, I might swear, we might talk about things that are weird to talk about. Like I said – God is calling me to realness.

Yep. God. He breathed breath into my lungs and continually pours grace into my cracked heart so He’s going to be part of this conversation too. I ask you to have an open mind and don’t dismiss me due to that.

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I remember the decision very distinctly. I decided my heart would never be worn on my sleeve, it would remain securely encased behind my rib cage where it belonged. Thoughts, feelings, and emotions were mine and mine alone. You can’t provoke an outburst. Tears may come easy but I know when it’s safe to release them.

To be honest, not a lot has changed, I still want that control and mystique. It’s nearly a pride that says “You don’t deserve to know my heart, to see my feelings, to hear my thought processes. You don’t really know me.” It feels good.

The problem is – I can’t pour my heart out for others when it’s walled in.

As God slowly gives me His eyes for the hurting, the grieving, the abused, the oppressed, as He teaches me love for people and my own children, He’s also teaching me to let go of that safety.

It sucks to be quite honest. Most of the time it just sucks. I hate crying, I hate vulnerability, I hate weakness, I hate awkward conversations. So it’s a process.

I’m also learning to let go of cliches. Or rather, accept them. Talking about depression and anxiety and walls around our hearts and issues from our childhood – it’s cliche, so I’ve spent a considerable amount of time ignoring it. The thing is, cliche or not, if it’s true then I have to accept it and work through it. I’m not doing myself  any favors by pretending it doesn’t exist simply because I don’t like the sound of it.

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So I invite you to join this conversation. Join me in this journey.

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