writing.

"Writing can be a pretty desperate endeavor, because it is about some of our deepest needs: our need to be visible, to be heard, our need to make sense of our lives, to wake up a grow and belong. It is no wonder if we sometimes tend to take ourselves perhaps a bit too seriously." - Anne Lamott

For me, writing is so achingly vulnerable. I also have to tell myself to lovingly chill the fuck out. The ache, the hunger, the desperation to be good and seen and admired and loved and accepted and understood is a whole lot of pressure to put some words on a page. In my work as a therapist, I often find myself inviting clients to consider the parts of themselves that they reject, hate, do not accept. In large part, I ask this of them because it's an all-too-familiar conversation I have with myself. What parts of me are presentable to the world, and what parts of me stay hidden away? What parts of me do I resent for existing and stuff down in shame? What parts of me do I ignore, dismiss, disregard, diminish? It's usually the parts of me that feel young, that are earnest and try a little too hard, the desperate parts. Those are the ones I find most embarrassing and that I hope no one ever sees. Yet I know that we all have those parts and that they're lovely in their own way. I know that for myself because I've known it for so many others. It's almost impossible to not feel endeared in the presence of someone's vulnerability, their authenticity; it's messy, clumsy, awkward, and odd. And we are all messy, clumsy, awkward, and odd. It's what connects us. It's our humanness.