Bravebird

I've been sitting here staring at this computer screen contemplating how to express my thoughts and it's because I feel so disconnected from my words that I fail to do so. Writing is my voice and I feel like I've lost it. It's buried somewhere underneath books, scribbled notes and pages of unfinished writings.

I've closed my eyes and tried to listen to the familiar sound of my soul where my words lie deep within and all I can hear is the faint wind outside my window. I'm a jumble of ugly, unintelligible thoughts trying to make sense of myself.

So, here I am waiting for something to come and disentangle my thoughts and make them beautiful again so it can all fit together like an orchestrated love song.

We've all heard that saying, but is it true? Is our skin so thick that the harshest of words cannot even penetrate? If someone were to bring your insecurities to light would you be able to just shrug it off or would the reality that you lack confidence in yourself burn? I do believe that words can hurt, especially when they are used to point out the flaws that we already see in ourselves. Yet I feel that the only thing they can hurt are our feelings.

If someone comes up to me and tells me that I'm ugly I'm not going to laugh. For that moment I might be offended. I might go home and look at myself in the mirror to see what they saw, but I'm not going to let their opinion or words define who I am. I'm not going to wake up the next morning with my head down and my eyes on the ground, because I know who I am. What's inside cannot be affected. Who I truly am, my soul within, is untouchable. It doesn't matter what the next person says or thinks of me. Even though I have a few insecurities I am still confident, because I do not to let my insecurities get the best of me. Instead I use them to improve myself. Our insecurities are what show us who we are and teach us to grow. It is what moves us to do great things and make changes. It is up to us to not take the words or opinions of others too personally.

Should I begin this again? I'm so far from it that it feels almost like a chore to write. Yet I miss it. I miss letting my thoughts spill from my fingertips into a blank white box. There is so much to tell, good and bad, but I am finding it harder and harder to find the words to express. I could sit here for an hour or two and not really get out what is in my heart, the pain, the uncertainties, the joys, the words that have been spoken to me. Maybe I am afraid. Maybe seeing it all typed up and right there in front of me would be me accepting what is truth.

What is truth? For me it is that my season is coming to an end and a new one is beginning. That may not make sense to many, but I understand it and that's all that matters. I'm seeing things that I've been trying to hold on to falling away. I'm being pushed out of my comfort zone and into unfamiliar territory. In my heart I feel ready, but my mind tells me that I'm not. I look at myself and I see a woman who has a long way to go, but the path keeps getting shorter and shorter and time will not wait for me. This is what frightens me.

 I am empty, because I am ready to be filled.