How do you tell a story that isn’t yours?
You don’t.
It’s not a trick question, it’s a real and honest one.
In 2011, when I started this blog, the only requirement I had for myself was to be honest. To tell the truth, even if it was hard and ugly. At the time, and over the years, I’ve done that. Sharing stories about my life as a mother and a friend; sometimes as a wife and a daughter. I took great strides to be relatable. To make my readers feel included and invited. I didn’t want anyone to feel alone. My blog was a way for me to shout, Here I am, I’m doing this too.
And for most of these years, I’ve been here. Doing this too.
Until recently.
Until recently.
For about a year and a half, I’ve had to censor myself. I’ve had feelings to share, but to do so would hurt other people in my life. It would shed light on things that are ugly and, while relatable, hurtful. I thought that ignoring these feelings wouldn’t impact me creatively at all. I thought, naively, I would just write about something else.
I didn’t. I couldn’t.
I felt that anything I wrote never sounded as authentic as me being ugly and raw with my words. I’ve written things in this last year and a half. Ugly things. Hurtful things. But they are on paper or stuck in my email somewhere. Those scraps and snippets sound authentic to my ears. Still, I have yet to publish those.
I can’t publish those.
Well. I can. Though at this time it would be costly and hurtful.
Instead I’ve paused. Spending more time in fictional worlds. Reading and writing. Watching Netflix, because right now fictional worlds are easier to live in.
In avoiding my authentic voice of non fiction, I have cultivated a voice of fiction. I had not visited any of those stories in months, but today, I read pieces that I had done. Surprised to see that they are coherent and thoughtful. A small world I could live in. Albeit a fake one.
I’m fine. I promise. Honestly sometimes the emotional weight of things is just that. Weight. To be completely honest, not all the weight belongs to me. Its shared. But this space here is not shared, so I hit pause.
I’m hoping, little by little I can share more of my authentic self. Once you stop writing it’s like anything else. It’s hard to start again. By writing this I feel it’s a start. A first step.
To tell a story that is half way mine.
DIYMFA writing prompt. Check it out.
