I decided this was stupid before I began putting the words on the page. I thought, as I often do think, if I don't know the purpose of the words it doesn't have value. If no one knows why they should be reading it, why write it? Why share it? I can't count how many times I've choked the seeds of dreams, of possibilities, of potential, of truth with the doubt-filled, venom of my inner critic. Rather than sit here and write whatever the heck comes up. I run. As far as I can from this moment where I admit to myself what is actually in the depth of my body, my heart.
Today, I spent so many minutes running from myself. I ran to a phone call full of minutes with a voice I love to get lost in. I ran while pushing my body without enough nourishment through a workout. I ran to busyness hour after hour after minute after minute, planned and filled with a thing to do. I ran with the escape of a sweet baby boy and a dear friend. I ran with phone games. I ran with wine. I ran with pizza (even though I'm pretty sure I am allergic). I ran with instagram (even though my intellect hates instagram). I am running and I am drained. I am tired. I am lying to myself.
I didn't want to meet myself here -- on this page -- because I know on the page I get honest. A little too honest sometimes for comfort. I can't pretend my eyes aren't hanging low with sadness just before the zoom call. I can't pretend that the precious moments of gratitude I feel aren't presently drowned out by gloom. I can't pretend I want to be sharing what feels like shortcomings and complaints with you, whoever you are reading.
But I am grateful to be here on this page because I made a promise to myself to express my truth daily. To be here, sharing my insides on a page, even when I don't feel like it. Even when they don't feel so pretty. Here I am. Not defeated but honest about how depleted I actually am. Hoping that will give you, me, us space to breath and just be despite all the pressure to be 'okay.'