I stopped writing for a very long time, well over a year and yet I felt the words bubbling inside me day in and day out. I yearned to write but there was something holding me back, a fear of putting pen to paper.
In many ways the trepidation still exists but finally the urge within me has burst forth, bubbled over.
I still feel the fear every time I open my book, stare at the screen. The vulnerability of putting me, in all my authenticity out there for the world to see.
The real me.
It becomes so easy to live our lives behind the scenes, in the quiet of our own space, within the boundaries of our own choosing. Staying within the norms, the expected.
It’s much harder to live out loud, the sky the limit, pushing past the barriers inflicted upon ourselves.
It takes a lot of self confidence and more importantly self love to expose our truest forms, our daring dreams, terrifying truths and daunting demons.
When we truly are ourselves it leaves us exposed, vulnerable to others judgments and criticisms, standing on the front line of exposure and our expectation every time is of worry, of not being good enough but we are.
And that’s the difference between then and now. Distance and perspective. Self love. Time and space. To a place where I am so in love with myself that I know I am enough. Exactly as I am in this moment I am and always will be enough and that is why I now write.