I have been slow to work on this project. Not because it’s triggering to work on, but because I’m battling old habits of feeling the need to over explain myself. Each time I sit down to write this series, I have to stop because I notice I have stopped writing for myself, and have begun writing for an audience, while creating expectations that audience might have.

Duh Bea, you’re sharing it on the internet… there will be an audience.🙄

That’s not the point. 🤨

It’s one thing to write a reflective essay that holds a moment of tension and the clarity that came from it. This series strips me bare. I’m naked in this. Wrapped only in words.

There is a small part of me that keeps whispering, “Why are you writing any of this? Who cares? You don’t live in any of that anymore, so why does it matter if it’s written down? Why share it?”

But I feel it, ya know? The story that was, being rewritten. It’s for me. A documentation of the one who said No More. An opportunity to speak with this voice and not the raw one I used to share.

My trauma had its moment. Years of screaming about the ache I carried in every atom of my being. It’s okay to share the story I’m writing now. To offer the one that tells how I released that pain and found my power. Because it wasn’t anger or fear that helped me find my peace… it was surrender.

So, it’s slow going, and I will do my best to smooth out the rough edges. But honestly? The journey has been anything but smooth. So maybe it’s okay if you see a few of the shards. 🖤