“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
– Maya Angelou
Writing helps me make sense of the world and my place in it. Words are the breadcrumbs I throw down to find my way back home.
One of the reasons I haven’t pursued getting published is because I want to write what I want, when I want, and how I want without seeking anyone’s approval. If I post on Instagram it’s because I decided writing something that day would bring me joy. If I had one follower, no likes, and no comments I’d still post.
Writing brings me out of my head and into my heart. There’s no place to hide. There’s only silence and the blank page in front of me. What is it I truly feel? What do I want to say? Why does it matter? To answer these questions I must slow down, turn inward and listen closely to my inner wisdom.
In a Facebook and Twitter world our stories have turned shallow. Truths can’t be limited to one hundred and twenty characters – not the truths that connect us in a disconnected world. Writing our stories helps us to dig deeper into our authentic selves. We go beneath the person who says everything is fine, we see behind the person who wears a happy mask, we see beyond the person whose heart beats a little too fast.
By reading other people’s stories I’ve learned about the beauty, grace and common threads that join us all on our quest to be all we can be. Each of us is the unspoken hero of our own story, stories that are the landscape of our souls. It’s not only about sharing what was, or could’ve been. It’s about coming up with the story of what’s possible and what’s next.