The thing about writing true is it hurts sometimes.
It hurts to be vulnerable and to find out things about you through writing.
Writing and sharing a personal essay, a memoir, a blog for an audience you’ve built up through sharing just enough about yourself that they don’t hate you as much as they like you, it’s hard.
I’m unapologetic in my truths, but, I’m no Constance hall.
I don’t quite put it all out there for the world to see or read; she nails it, I nail bite about it.
I don’t write a lot about sex, especially not my own sex life. This isn’t through shame or embarrassment but more so, it’s just not my style.
I don’t use a lot of profanity in my writing (it doesn’t suit my tone but hey get me at the pub and oh my potty mouth).
I don’t always post and share everything that I write, because sometimes after I’ve written it, I realise it was more for me and that the world won’t necessarily get anything out of what resulted in a journal entry.
I haven’t shared the ins and outs of my mental health journey or the shitty boyfriend that I thought I would marry. I haven’t told you my love story, the greatest love story of all time (if you ask me).
What comes from writing true, is a lot of judgement and also, without purpose, great offence to those that still become defensive about particular topics. This doesn’t scare me, but I’m mindful of what I’m putting out into the world.
I write and post about #allthethings we are trying to be and achieve and survive as women, as mothers, as wives and career women and hobbyists of all natures.
What I write and blog about is true, and there is truth in beauty and pain.
There’s a lot to be learned from other peoples truths.
So, write true.
Even if you don’t share it with the world, you will find more of yourself with each written word.
T x
FlyInMyWine 