For a while, it felt difficult to write something I was willing to share. This is mostly because I want to share writing that holds value, and lately, I have been writing in order to process.
Writing when healing isn’t always beneficial to the mass. In fact, it might even be destructive. When you write from your pain, sometimes you wind up sending more of that out into the world. When you write from your scars, you can speak from a place of wisdom and knowledge.
Silence should always be intentional — a means to serve a purpose. Often, silence is used in order to process thought and emotion before speaking, so that when you do speak, you can do so with more clarity. But it should never be a means to release yourself from a difficult situation that you don’t want to confront.
This space has always felt sacred to me. I began blogging at the age of thirteen and since then, I’ve always known in the back of my mind how crucial it was for me to have a safe place in the world where I could just be, given that the circumstances or people I surrounded myself with, didn’t always allow for that.
Time and time again, the written word has held space for me to rest in, no matter what state I was in. Whether I needed healing, love, escape, freedom — anything at all — writing was there. It still is. I wanted to dedicate this post to share a small (but very critical) piece of my writing world that no one gets to see: my journals.
There is a power that comes from secrecy, although there is also an opportunity for further isolation. I think it really comes down to where we place ourselves on the pendulum of extremes. How much of ourselves are we willing to expose, and at what time, and to whom? How intentional are we being with our hearts and our most vulnerable selves?
I’ve found that with journaling, I get to share all of myself, with myself.
It’s a space where you can admit to your wrongdoings, your darkest desires, your longings, your vulnerabilities, your wants, your dreams. A space to confess it all and to understand that after you have released certain parts of yourself, they no longer have to hold any truth to them.
The problem with any longstanding human relationship can often be found in trying to fit people into boxes filled with data that we hold on to about them. But with writing or journaling, we can tell the truth about who we are in the moment, and then be freed from it. Often when I write something, it is true only for the moment I am writing in. But once I look at it, I realize that after I wrote it down, it no longer holds. I am released from this belief or that way of life. Sometimes, humans don’t always give us that same flexibility, and not because they don’t love you, but because it’s easier to understand someone without having to constantly re-evaluate who they are.
I was one of the many people in the world who was taught from a young age to suppress my emotions in order to be a strong person. However, being a highly sensitive creature, I needed some sort of an outlet. Thus, began my love of journaling. Before blogging even existed, that was my safe space, and continues to be as I heal or want to process my emotions. It’s the one and only place I can be all of myself and find acceptance for it.
I think that even if we manage to foster authentic, deep, and meaningful relationships, it’s human nature to not disclose ourselves completely. Maybe that’s because there is a level of sacredness that lies within privacy. Even if it isn’t intentional, not everyone in your life knows your every thought. Not everyone knows who you used to be and how you used to think. Not everyone knows what it really took for you to get where you are today.
But that’s what makes us so interesting. That’s what makes any relationship interesting — the fact that you are continuously learning another, whether that be a friend, a partner, or a family member. And even when you think you know everything, that person will continue to grow and change, just as you will.
Journaling is where all the many people I have been can find some peace. It’s where I was able to connect the dots of what parts of myself were authentic, and what were meant to uphold certain social and societal expectations. It is where I can play, I can rest, I can think, I can explore, and I can just be.
I’ve realized how much of a privilege it is to just be. To be all of yourself. To know that you should hold space for yourself. That that version of you that lies at the core is the person that needs to be heard.
This post was originally published at www.mishakhan.com
