I love this blog, I love that it can be a platform for me to write what I’ve been through, and how I’ve overcome it, and hopefully help someone along the way. But I also find myself not sure what to write about, or trying to write about a hard thing I’m going through in the moment. When that happens, I don’t feel like the words are my own...but are my personal demon’s instead.
Laughing at me. Mocking me. Reminding me I am weak in the area.
Then I stop writing, and be left feeling defeated. I know there are some beautiful writers who can write in the midst of their pain, and I applaud them. I wish to be them. But I am not, I am who I am. I write redemption stories. And that’s okay.
One of my favorite things to do is to help others unpack their baggage. One of my least favorite things to do? Unpack my own. Funny thing is, I cannot help anybody unpack, if my very same baggage is also on my shoulders, raw and unpacked. I feel like it’s a reminder, almost screaming to my audience that I myself hadn’t figured this shit out yet. Don’t listen to me.
I think when you become a writer, (I believe anybody can become a writer when you put your wisdom into words, no matter who reads it.) you feel a sense of pressure to write answers for everything. That’s not our job. Our job is to live, to feel, then in your own time, you heal. And then, something beautiful happens. You heal and you’re given new eyes. Eyes that can see another weary soul going through the hard things you just unpacked. And you now have the strength to take her hand, and help her unpack…..if she asks for it, don’t unpack another soul’s baggage where your help isn’t wanted. She may need more time to sit with her pain before she seeks someone else’s knowledge. I say this because I know how it feels to get help when I didn’t ask for it. When I was a single mother, and somebody was so quick to tell me “You will meet somebody, just like I did!”
Good for you, girlfriend.
I didn’t care to hear her love story, when I was heartbroken in my loneliness. I did come around eventually, and I asked for insight from mama’s I knew who had a similar story to mine, and even read blogs about redeeming it all, and they all gave me hope to last until I did in fact meet my Prince Charming.
I have a system with unpacking my baggage. Funny enough, it’s very similar to my system for the baggage that I’ve packed for trips.
I sit with it.
I stare at it.
I despise it.
I pick at it like I do when I have run out of clean clothes in the closet, but know there is at least one pair of pants I can wear that is in that suitcase.
I pray for the strength to unpack it (maybe not for actual unpacking, but you get my drift.)
Then finally, I may ask for help to sort it out, then I unpack it...wash it...and put it away.
After my baggage is unpacked, and sometimes even after a scar has shown up...I am ready to talk about it, to write about it. And look for signs from other tired souls that they need my words. And I help her unpack.