For me, writing is confession. A very private part of me is naked for you to see. I’m vulnerable and embarrassed at times — but what you see if the truth. If you want it.
If you read what I write here, you know a side of me which remains hidden from the rest of the world. Those who work with me have no idea about the things I confess to you. Those who meet me casually anywhere else would never guess about what I have to say here.
When I was young, I was very guarded, because I was afraid about what people might think of me. I wasn’t going to change who I was to suit them, but I was still afraid of their judgment. Slowly, though, that changed. I realized that I could be very open about who I am. Why?
Nobody else is paying attention to the things which I openly share — because they’re too busy being terrified about what people might think of them, too.
And so I engage in therapy here — by telling the truth — secure in the knowledge that almost nobody else will hear. And it makes me wish or hope that there are those among you who will understand and identify with my confession — who will silently say to themselves, “That’s the way I feel, too.”
We’re neither friends nor enemies, just strangers who share the past
Society needs storytellers to help make sense of a changing world
My bad teen poetry suggests I’ve always hungered for missing love
‘This path leads to somewhere I think I can finally say, I’m home’
When love finally dies, it’s like a fever breaks and the pain is gone