It's ok to write it down

I guess we’re a little vulnerable when we let other people read about our inner selves.   But I don’t see why that’s an issue.  What if other people know that we cry, get mad, have regrets, succumb to temptation, fail, have dreams, or feel inferior?  What if they knew how excited we get over small triumphs and look forward to the tiniest events?  Would it be the worst if they saw our humanness?  That we’re so much more than a lipstick smile and a “Good!  How’s it going with you?” Worst case, they’d misjudge us.  But if that’s the worst than can happen from being vulnerable and exposing my thoughts, I’ll risk it.  Because the return is so worth the investment.  Think what happens when you’ve been invited in to someone’s mind.  Even more sacred is when they let you into their heart.  I almost let out the deep breath I’d been unconsciously holding in while I was wondering if this person is also a risk-taker, if she’ll trust me, if I’ve finally met someone who is also vulnerable but  is ok with it.   You know what it does to a relationship when your vulnerability is accepted.

I guess when we write, though, we don’t always know if it’s accepted or what impact it can have on people.  I suppose on Facebook you could get a “like,” but for words people it’s sort of a tickler and you yearn for more: “What exactly did you connect with?  How do you feel like me?  What do you think and what can you tell me from your life about this?”  Some are kind enough to share their thoughts in the small comment box, how we’re humanly the same, but most hit a quick “like” in acknowledgment that yes, they are your friends, they will read your ramblings to be nice.

I wonder about journals.  My sister refuses to write her deepest thoughts in hers.  I bet a lot of us are like that.  I skirt the edge pretty close though.  I don’t write really mean things or really intimate details that are unnecessary, but I’m pretty open in my journals.  I honestly don’t know if anyone will want to read them.  Unless I become famous for something one day.  And then people will want to know where she came from.  Or maybe my daughters as they become moms will feel validated when I share stories from pages of my life as a young, tired, frustrated new mother.  Mostly it’s probably just for me.  I ask a lot of questions of my journal.  I record the mundane, the frustrations, the triumphs (they are ever so slight), even my tears are embedded in the pages at times.  I don’t care if my feelings are raw when I’m writing.  And of course I’m embarrassed when I go back later.  But there the words stay—forever evidence that I am human and had a lot of good times, medium times and hard times.  So what is wrong with that?  Why do we shy away from recording what we really are and were and want to be?  So I’m not always that great at being an engaged mom and our marriage has had ups and downs.  Yes, I long for more kids, and I feel like I’m a fake because I don’t know much about history (I know, there’s a book for that) or geography or sports or politics or the scriptures or the world.  But that’s just life.  I accept that.  Writing commits you to owning your thoughts, feelings, and ideas.  It makes you acknowledge where you are and what you’re dealing with.  I’d venture to say that when you share what’s in your heart in a post or in a letter or even a journal for later, it will resonate with someone.  It might help someone feel more accepted, ok in their vulnerability.  Because you took a minute to record your life, others know they’re not alone in theirs.