My writing is beginning to transform. It's not always showing. It's not a constant. There are gems that glitter with relatable truth and clumps of crap that reek of the mundane. That's how writing goes. Just like any other art form. There are on days and off days. A few masterpieces in between loads of shit. That flow of ups and downs will inevitably continue. But transformation occurs despite them.
Overall, your work develops as you discover and fine tune your voice. The ebbs and flows, valleys and peaks, occur in an upward direction, always moving toward telling your truth.
That is what I'm noticing with my writing. Reading over my pieces, rather written on the up or the down of this dynamic wavelength, I can see more of me. My voice is growing more audible. It's slow going and perhaps hard to recognize, but once a faint whisper, it now resonates at normal volume. Shinning through the carefully crafted words, creating smoothness and revealing character. When you read my work, you now come to know me. In a far more intimate way than you used to. A way that invites you into the unpolished, ugly, embarrassing, quirky, and raw.
Reading my words, you enter my reality. Not as I dream it or desire you to see it. But as I actually live it. You discover my humanity in watching me screw up and fail time in time again. Seeing me struggle with the same battles you fight. You learn little things about me like my worst nasty habits and my most pride-stripping moments. You get inside my head and see the thoughts, ideas, dreams and desires that inhabit it.
It's like seeing me in my sweatpants on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Hair pulled back and greasy, acne rather than makeup covering my face, while I sit on the couch shamelessly stuffing my mouth, eyes glued to the television while I catch up on crappy shows. Up close and personal. You can smell that I haven't showered or even brushed my teeth.
Or like you're watching me fall to the floor, hunched over and heartbroken. Breathless from crying so intensely. Knees too shaky to stand. Mascara tinted tears staining my white t-shirt. Self-esteem shattered. Identity stolen from me by the one who left me at my weakest.
You watch me put up walls. See me build them back up each time, brick by brick. Only to see them crumble down once again when the next one comes along. You want to scream at me as I search and search in all the wrong places for who I really am. Shake me while yelling in my face, "You're better than this!"
No, I can't hide those dark moments anymore. Not from you. Not if I want my voice to come through these essays and blog posts and someday maybe, books.
Because fine tuning my voice, finding, developing, and sharing it...is really just about breaking down wall after wall that covers my fragile heart. It's tearing down layer after layer after layer, until every bit of excess, including the fear and pride that cripple my development as a writer, have been thrown away along with them.
I can only find my voice by embracing vulnerability. Vulnerability is the absolute key to sharing my truth. The more vulnerable I become, the better writer I will be. I've gotten just a glimpse in the past few months. And I'm ready to step into the boxing ring and take out those protective shields I've built around my true self. Until only me and my truth remain.
Here's to a season of embracing vulnerability, and in doing so, finding my voice.
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