i get so scared of my own thoughts. afraid to see them written down on paper or staring back at me from a computer screen. i won’t write things down because i don’t want to some day come across those thoughts and have regrets for thinking them. i don’t want to sound stupid. it was easier to tell myself that my thoughts ‘don’t matter’. wait. truthfully, not that what i’ve written so far isn’t true because it is, but as i write and if i go a little deeper, i don’t like to write my thoughts down because the action of writing means that i am speaking things aloud and that means i am, in some kind of way, slowly and gradually working towards dealing with parts of myself that i have been running from for a long time.
yes, i’ve been running from my voice while at the same time, wanting to run towards that deep instinct of giving my thoughts, my self,
because of circumstances, i never wanted to allow myself a chance at value or volume. i didn’t think I mattered.
my thoughts didn’t matter.
taking care of myself first, didn’t matter.
i remember in my yoga teacher training, i stood before the class and i had to call out a few asanas. i remember Bethany going to the back of the room and telling me to speak louder until she could hear me. i did. then she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway and i had to speak even louder so that she could hear me. i did. i spoke louder, but i also cried. i stood there not able to cover my ears because in that moment, it was my turn to teach my fellow classmates. so i had to stand there in my voice, and as i stood there, i heard ‘me’. and i remember feeling terrified. i also remember wanting to no longer be afraid. i remember wanting to stand for myself. and so i did. i spoke louder. i remembered to ‘ground down’ and stand with ‘TRUE NORTH ALIGNMENT’. i had a quick flashback to my years of Karatedo. in certain stances, the lower i squatted, sometimes i’d feel so strong. so in front of my classmates, and Bethany out in the hallway, i found myself squatting just a little more to place my feet, to feel grounded. to hear my voice. i heard my voice for what seemed like the first time. my voice, not attached to anyone else and not attached to anyone else’s circumstance. i heard my voice, and it was for me.
since that time, detaching stories from the sound of my voice, of who i am, has been a process.
a process of being unafraid.
a process of hearing my voice with new ears.
a process of turning the light on to who i am becoming.
photo by @elora allen