A close friend of mine asked me if I had been writing anything lately, he had checked out my blog every so often, only to find that nothing had been added.
I explained I have been writing, that there are countless scribbles in my journal and drafts on the web, left unpublished and that for some reason, I could not put them out into the world.
“It’s for you,” he said. “It’s okay to have something be just for you.”
And that’s all I needed to understand.
At times during these past 6 months on my coaching journey, I have felt raw, sensitive, and naked. I originally had the intention that I would share every emotion, breakthrough, hardship, and epiphany. But, that did not happen. And a part of me had felt guilty about this.
I had originally martyred myself, making this “sacrifice” of pure transparency, promising I would share my “struggles” and make everyone who reads them better because of it. I was being the typical hero– a role I have learned I tend to fall into most.
But, along the way I learned that during the process, everything is too fresh and too real to digest and share right away, even to those I trust most. I was already the most vulnerable I have ever been (vulnerability hasn’t been a place I have typically shined in prior to coaching) in my life.
Trying to put my journey into words in a way that people would understand was just going to strip me of my own self-discovery and acceptance. I knew that I would start catering my realizations to what sounded best on paper, rather than unveiling what was truly going on beneath the surface.
I do not hold tight to guilt for not making my thoughts public. I once held tight because I was disappointed in myself for yet again starting something I wouldn’t finish. Something I have done time and time again. But, this time around it was not out of laziness, avoidance or disconnection. I just needed to write for myself.
It’s for me.