I realized today that my understanding of my own voice is very deeply connected to the written word. It is how I process my life, how I find meaning and insight.
I have so many memories of people saying or implying that I shouldn't be so serious or depressing or whatever negative emotion you can think of, in my poetry and that my tests and challenges in life can't ever truly be fixed through writing. That the only way to actually handle a situation with someone is to talk to them in person, to have a 'real' 'big girl' 'in person' live' conversation. These loving, kind hearted, all-knowing voices turn over and over and over in my head telling me this in every situation I am faced with in life. They tell me that if I can't express something out loud then basically I'm weak, crippled, broken. That I should be able to and if I can't then... well... I should force myself to...... That I should overcome this weakness that is my need and yearning to share my deepest truths in writing.
Today I understood something... I understood that, in my life, the only way I feel I am allowed to have a voice is through writing. It is as if I have lived most of my life underwater, breathing through a straw, but these voices in my head have often even taken away that straw, and left me drowning, with no way of finding the surface. No way of sharing my truth. No way of breathing.
So much of my life I have suffocated in silence. Feeling as though my attachment to my metaphoric straw is a weakness I should be able to overcome. Not seeing that in fact the straw is one of my greatest strengths.
When a situation arises that I don't know how to deal with, I sit down and write about it or if I can't, then I talk it out with myself. I write and rewrite and rewrite letters or conversations with others in my head... I rewrite them until I understand the essence of the situation, why it hurt me, why I feel as I do, what really is the source. It helps me to know whether it is something that I can sift through, find the triggers, recognize and acknowledge them and then let go, whether I need to express the pain in some written form, such as a poem, which will allow me to let it go or whether it's something I really need to speak to someone about. Then if I do need to speak about it, writing it all out allows me to say what I really want/mean to say without my defensive lower-self getting involved. It allows me to express what I am unable to express aloud, and then it creates an opening to have a conversation with someone. A real 'in person' conversation if one is needed.
Writing allows me to feel as though I have a right to express my needs. To ask for help. To speak my truth. To set boundaries. It is not my crutch, it is a huge part of my voice and I desperately need to stop taking my own voice away simply because other people have different ways of sharing their own. Somehow I need to recognize in my soul that there is no 'one right way' and that the path I am walking is not 'wrong' simply because my actions often find their impulse in written form.
