I could title and end this blog post:
So you're thinking of telling your story.
The girl who did
But...I mean that would be a short read and you may need encouragement. So tada: Encouragement.
Let me tell you all my scary parts first.
The scariest part of this whole coming to terms with my story to telling my story to posting my story was the parts I made up in my head. The fear I created. Let's face it, that which goes unsaid in my head gets creatively BIG. Typing out my story was therapeutic. What was deep within my womb, my creative center was finally moving and it was moving up through my heart, out my throat and speaking my biggest truths. It felt amazing to have energy that for so long had been repressed, stagnant, unmoving to finally swirling, flowing, and making its way into the world. I was decluttering so to speak and doing so I learned more about me than I have in a long time.
Through my own words, I could meet myself. I read it over and over privately and before I could second guess myself I hit publish and then I hit share. I shut the computer and left the room. Done I did it. Relief oh sweet relief and then I felt it coming on...the BIGness of panic: ego. I decided to make a deal with my ego I would give her 10 minutes to wonder why I just did. She could panic, sweat, check facebook every 2.5 seconds for a like or comment. You know what though? Even that felt a little dramatic like I didn't even believe my ego, it was just courtesy to let it ride out.
That's right, my story- my shame- that I kept hidden for half my life sailed out to internet land into my friend's news feed and I didn't even worry. Yah, I totally did not die. I felt FREEDOM.
What happened next was what I am calling the three C's of post shame releasing.
Cry, Connect, Cleanse.
I told my husband I had posted it. He knew I was writing "myself a letter" but I couldn't stop and tell my household what I was doing. It was meditative I couldn't take myself away from what needed to be written. I declared that I had told my story and I shared it. Later when the kids were asleep I was able to read it out loud to him. I cried. I cried deep tears of meeting my very vulnerable 15-year-old self and I sobbed for speaking my real truth. It was healing. It was necessary. It was sacred.
He told me and I could feel his happiness for me, the sigh of relief, and the power behind it. He thought about all the things I thought. Freedom for myself and a voice and if it reached just one person, just one person, it would bring me hope. Then he said just about the greatest thing he could at that moment. "Why don't you go take a bath". Yes, a bath just what I needed to relax and cleanse away the residue.
I let myself melt into the salt bath and when I came back to life I was renewed. I was new.
That is what happens, my friends. When you jump into your death you birth again. Its never the end it's only the beginning.