Why go public?

I have been processing my life’s journey through writing as long as I can remember. Little girl diaries under tiny lock and key were eventually replaced by spiral bound notebooks stuffed to the brim with illegible scribbles. I digested the visual and experiential riches of my travels into words on paper. Over time I lost my mojo with even the silkiest of ink pens and instead edited my way through various heart aches with the stroke of keys. I took a writing class once and worked with the earnest diligence of a sculptor. The craft of writing is an art. An art form that I pined to do more of because out of all the forms of creative expression that I’ve loved since I was a young thing - singing, music, painting, dancing - writing feels most like being home.

But why share? Why write for anyone else’s gaze? It’s a bloody risk. It exposes you and therefore may make you hide from X and gloss over Y…. Plus, it feeds into a societal obsession with over-sharing that I don’t share.

But I’m learning to reframe. Writing in the open is a risk in a life (mine) that has been far too risk averse. It exposes a woman (me) who has nothing to hide and is actually quite comfortable spreading it...and besides, is over-sharing any worse than never-sharing?

I am a woman with many friends. I am open and honest and drink many a draft of beer sharing my shit. I’m certain the bartender last night heard me talk with a friend about considering becoming a Cam girl. I have never been especially private. But I have guarded myself from taking risks. Guarded myself from believing there is room for me in the artistic and creative nooks of our world. I refuse to continue believing that my only seat at the table is through nursing. There are a lot of fucking open seats in the room. It is time I stop gazing longingly around the room and actually get the fuck up off of my chair and go try out a few of those seats. Because the amazing thing is that even in a over saturated world and a crowded room, there is always room. Always. Because all you need is space for yourself to breathe.

Cheers to ripping a sheet out of a diary and throwing it into the air for the breezes to carry it where they will.