I’ve had people ask me (or ask each other), Why does she write? Why does she feel the need to share intimate details of her life? Why does she put such personal information out to the world?

It’s not a rude question. It’s a great one. Especially given that, I still feel butterflies before pressing, “publish” on a blog post. Especially because I still sometimes wonder, What will-so-and-so think of me if they read what I wrote? It’s not easy, and I certainly don’t share everything. But I do what I can, when I can.

So, to the ones who wonder – here is your answer.

I write for a sense of community. I write because I’m not alone, and neither are you. I write because even though I am a very uniquely created individual – I am not the only one who has the thoughts and feelings and experiences that I do. I write because you, and you, and you are all out there, reading. I write because someone has to. I write because I have to. I write because when I keep things in, they turn into a sticky tar, rendering me sluggish. They turn into hot bolts of fire, paining me. They turn into ice, paralyzing me. I write to keep myself light and moving.

We live in a world, where, although improving, people tend to keep things quiet. There used to be – and still is, in so many ways – shame about sharing things. So much was/is expected to be kept quiet and dealt with alone. Only recently has a shift started. People speaking out about mental health struggles. Drug and alcohol abuse. Sexual assault experiences. Relationship struggles. Many people are sharing – yet many are still quiet. Usually out of fear. Out of shame.

Many are still sitting there, thinking,

I’m the only one in my life who struggles with alcohol.

Nobody else would understand my struggle with depression. 

I carry so much shame about having been raped. Nobody would get it.

She wouldn’t understand my struggles with food and my body. She’s completely confident about hers.

Everyone’s marriage seems perfect. Why is mine in such a bad place? 

Everyone else seems fine. It must just be me.

Let me tell you: everyone else is not fine. They are just faking it, day in and day out, like you are. And they are sitting there, quietly, like you are. And so maybe you’re walking past each other on a daily basis, but neither of you have any idea.

I can’t tell you how comforting it is to read a blog post, or article, or story, or memoir, about someone who gets the experiences I’ve had, the thoughts I’ve thought, the emotions I’ve felt. It’s akin to a hand reaching out and grabbing yours; a blanket safely covering you up; a gaze holding yours.

And so – if I can do that for someone, I will. And I have. So many people have come out of the woodwork – old neighbors, elementary school classmates, co-workers, relatives. People who have all said, in one way or another, You are writing my story. You get me. It’s such a relief for someone to get me. 

And maybe then, they will write, or share, or speak up (and some of them have) – and they will feel empowered, and freed, and light. And then the ones they share with will feel that same feeling. And then they will share. And they will know they aren’t alone. And they will find that hand to hold. And, do you see what we’re accomplishing here?

Community. Together. Bonded. No shame. Not alone. Not just you.

So, that. That is why I write.

Why do you?