I was lying in bed last night and thinking about my blog when suddenly I was filled with fear. I realized that I was sharing my heart open and honest to anyone who wishes to read it.
Its like walking up a stranger in a shop and telling them my deepest darkest feelings
I wondered if I actually had got it before, really understood what I am doing when I allow my fingers to roam the keyboard and click the button saying publish.
Its a strange feeling knowing that someone you have never met knows your heart.
For a couple of minutes I actually thought twice.
Maybe its time to stop blogging.
Maybe I should start filtering my feelings, censoring my words.
Then after a while I began to wonder why?
Why do I need to hide who I truly am?
So what if strangers have read my words, in fact i am actually glad they have. Maybe one person has heard my heart and knows that they are not alone.
Sometimes the gift of company is all you need to face the day.
Knowing that tomorrow will come and somehow you will survive.
Understanding that everyone everywhere has a journey they need to take.
That we all get lost and lose our way.
Accepting that life is lousy at times.
We hurt, we ache and sometimes we break.
This blog is my heart and yes at times I may over share but who cares?
I have finally learned something,
Really understood something I should have always known.
Being me is ok,
The ups and downs they make me who I am
And who I am is pretty awesome over sharing and all.
So there will be no filtering no censorship just pure raw Sara.
It may get messy.
But it will always be true.
Because thats who I am.
I think it isn’t strangers which are scary, it is friends. Dropping the mask and being real in front of people who know what your life looks like every day, who have the ability to see both what’s written and what’s lived. That’s a scary honesty.
Tia
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That is so true but then most know I’m a heart on the sleeve for the world to see kind of person. Saying that it’s only recently I’ve allowed myself to her close to others. A work in progress.
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