I’ve posed this question casually on Twitter on on the blog’s Facebook page. But I haven’t put it out, as its own post.
In keeping with the spirit of my last post, I’m thinking about how many people out there have stories that they’re not telling. Out of shame, out of fear, out of embarrassment. Or maybe out of having never been asked. Maybe out of not having the space to do it.
Here is your space.
My space is your space.
Let me hold space for you.
Do you have a story to tell? Do you have something you’d like to say? A sentence, a paragraph, a poem? Do you have an experience that you’ve kept to yourself, because you think you’re the only one living it?
Would you be brave? Would you write something for me? I want to share your stories. I want to share your thoughts. A word, a sentence, a paragraph. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t have to be “good”. It doesn’t have to be anything. Whatever it is, is what I want to share.
The idea being – that we all have stories. And we all think we’re the only one with our story. And so it’s time to share them. Because we aren’t alone and it’s enough of thinking we are. It’s enough of feeling shame. It’s enough of feeling constrained.
Nobody has to know it’s you, if you’re not ready.
Share anonymously. Share under a pen name. [If this helps encourage you – there’s a website on which I publish articles under a pen name. Sometimes it helps. Makes it easier to share. If it helps you, do it.] I don’t care. Just share. Write a comment here. Write a comment on Facebook. Tweet at me. Or email me and tell me, Yes, I want to share my thoughts. Post my story. Post my words. Post my experiences.
It doesn’t matter if I know you now. It doesn’t matter if I knew you then. It doesn’t matter if we talk daily or if we haven’t spoken in years. If you are reading this, and you are thinking, Maybe I have one thing to say – I want to hear it.
There’s no judging, opinion-forming, telling, gossiping.
Just listening. Holding space. Caring. Compassion. Admiration.
The idea being empowerment. The idea being strength. Bravery. Community.
I hope – I really, really, really hope – that following this, I’ll get even one person who shares, even one thing.
Will it be you?
5 comments
Great idea! You sharing your space is what inspired me to start my own blogging adventure – so far so good! Thank you!
Yes I would, I love to write. I have a blog and i’m planning on writing a book. I specifically want to post an article I wrote titled: Be Proud of Your Life. I will post the link to my blog in the form that’s required to leave a comment.
And Thank you for your blog. I love it.
I would love to read what you write! You can email me anything, anytime.
I was raped when I was in middle school. I never told anyone. I thought it was my fault. It didn’t take long for my life to spiral out of control after that. I stopped talking to all my friends and started hanging out with “the wrong crowd”. My teenage years are a blur of getting high, drunk, blacking out, and being taken advantage of. I knowingly put myself in dangerous situations with dangerous people. I didn’t care what happened to me, I was already damaged beyond repair. I became a magnet for abusive relationships.
Then, in my early 20’s I got pregnant. That plus sign changed everything. Without hesitation, I turned my life around and never looked back. My child became my whole world. I was proud, confident, happy. A few years later, I was raped again. This time, I’m left permanently physically disfigured. I didn’t know what to think. I knew it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t doing anything that would put me at risk. I couldn’t blame doing something wrong or drugs or alcohol or risky behavior. I left that life behind me. I was a responsible mom, home alone, with my child asleep in the next room. I still can’t comprehend how this happened. I mean, how could this happen more than once and it not somehow be my fault? The rapist next door became my Gaslighting stalker who made sure I was simultaneously too scared and too uncertain to say anything to anyone. By the time I was able to get away, he had me questioning my sanity, believing his delusions, not trusting myself, my judgment, or my perceived reality. I’ve spent well over a year now trying to glue the pieces back together after, trying not to hate myself, trying to believe I’m worthy of anything, trying to be good enough, trying to be happy, trying to just be.
I am blown away by your bravery at sharing your story here, and honored that you chose to do so. I just want you to know that I read every word you wrote, three times, and I’m feeling compassion for you, for all you’ve been through, and for the hard work you’ve done and continue to do. It was not your fault. And you are not broken. And you will not feel broken forever. Holding space for you. Xoxo