Someone I look up to once said: “we all speak our truth, whether we know it or not.” I found a lot of comfort in that, in knowing that my truth was always there, supporting me. It’s one thing to speak and know that what you actually mean is there, either in the shadows or in the light, but it’s another thing to write it.
Writing your truth is difficult. Through writing, you can manipulate your reality. In writing, there is no body language, no inflection of the voice (if you so chose), no atmosphere or gauge of tension that is present in a conversation. As writers, we must learn to write the truth that stands behind the curtain we rely on when we talk. We must fearlessly present our ideas, or we risk lying to the world and to ourselves.
You have every right to lie. To hide behind what you want the world to see yourself as, what you want your truth to be. Maybe you’re lying because you think it will change your reality. I believe this is flawed; perhaps it worked for you, but I don’t think it’s sustainable. There is a peace that comes with acknowledging and accepting your current situation, especially if you’re unsatisfied with it.
Write your truth, write it boldly, write it with passion and emotion, write it uncomfortably, write it to feel vulnerable, write it to give hope, write it to find it. Write to release your anger, your fear, your frustration, your dissatisfaction, your heartbreak, and your destruction. Writing is cathartic. There is something beautiful about offering a piece of your heart to an audience, to a group of people who you may never meet or know.
I write these blogs selfishly. They have become a nightly ritual and something I look forward to. After getting over the fear of it, I have come to appreciate that I can write my truth. I have a desire to be honest with the world, even when it doesn’t ask me to.