So I’ve decided to dig back in. I’ve decided to get back in the Arena. I’ve decided that what I have to say is important to me. That it matters that I get it out. Not for anyone else to necessarily read but for me to process life. It’s been a long journey from February 2018 until now. So much has happened. So much loss, gain, newness, growth, fighting, overcoming, and the list just goes on.
Some are able to channel their thoughts into beautiful portraits. Others are able to rhythmically move to music allowing their emotions to flow through their body. There are those that use spoken word and it’s pattern of rhyme and reason to mentally walk you through their process, urging you to use your vision and imagination to bring forth an image of their emotion.
For me, it’s through writing.
It’s in the confined space of a vehicle combined with the muffled sounds of rubber frantically rolling over the cement, that thoughts flow. Words pour into me so vividly, refreshingly filling me with the hopes of overflowing to others. Pressing for freedom. A freedom that I often don’t embrace. A vulnerability that I’m afraid of. My thoughts are sacred to me. Allowing others into a personal space of healing and transformation is scary.
What will they think? Will anyone read it? What if there’s criticism? What if I’m not who people think I am?
I don’t care.
For the first time in 32 years, it’s so empowering to say.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a daily process. Everyday I have to choose my voice over others. My healing over others. My worth over others. Through intention and consistency.
Intentionally following my intuition and consistently reassuring myself.
This is my “Daring Greatly” moment.
What’s on the other side of that, I don’t know.
But I plan to get in the arena. I plan to fight to figure it out. I vow to be real and transparent. I will pray over every obstacle that I come against. Not through my strength alone, but with the help of God, I will see change.
Even now, as my heart beats fast and my thoughts start to betray me, convincing me that this isn’t the right choice.
I begin. Again. Inviting you to read along.
Luv J. MonCheri