There are 168 drafts in my stories here on Medium.
168 ideas. Some are loaded with research, some fully fleshed out into complete outlines/ideas, some with only a sentence synopsis.
I write a lot but the problem lies with publishing.
Sharing makes me terrified. Which no would believe because I share a lot. If you follow my Instagram, I’m pretty active both in stories and in posts.
But I’m not sharing the stories that I should be sharing.
Which makes the rest irrelevant, I think. I mean, I’m glad that the whimsical random moments that I love in everyday life get to be shared with people, but it seems like that should be icing on the cake, not the bulk of my content.
Vulnerability is terrifying. I don’t want to share the painful stuff, instead on days like today, I would just rather pretend that they don’t exist. One year on, that I’m not remembering the date, which also reminds me of everyone else gone too soon. That I am not still mourning a dear, dear lifelong friend.
Those things don’t go away, I think. The grief doesn’t get easier. We just get stronger.
But that is messy and ugly so I try to keep an optimistic lens on. No, actually it is shifting into a screen of optimism to cover the sorrow.
Sometimes I get so exhausted with grief and muckedty muck and life hurting that it’s more fun to bury it. To pretend that it doesn’t exist and laugh instead.
And then I wonder why I feel emotionally sweat stained, like going for a run in Miami heat and then leaving the same un-showered clothes on for the next two days. It feel grimy and utterly disgusting. No matter how happy and cool the A/C is, you still feel nasty because you need a damn shower, not colder A/C.
There is so much dark and ugliness in the world that I want to write well, beautifully and provide something good. By just consistently publishing rather than publishing the best, I feel like I’m letting everyone down because you see the good but also probably a lot more rough, subpar, barely sketched out content.
That isn’t the truth though. The truth may be more valuable than focusing on the beauty. Or just pretending that it doesn’t effect us at all.
There are other things too. I hate being too emotional, too passionate, too esoteric, too deep that everyone gets lost in the ramblings, not professional enough, too much research (oh if I let myself loose on research articles, you’d drown in facts because no human has ever published research before, right?), publishing too often because girl, you’ve just got too much to say! Why can’t you be quieter? Easier to be around because you’ve got no opinions or desires or humanity?
See, these things wander. But here’s the honest truth of my heart today.
I’m shaking sick scared to publish this but here we go. Here’s to truth. Here’s to expressing exactly who and where you are. That might be the most important weapon we’ve got in our arsenal.
Thank you for reading! I’d love hear your thoughts on this topic! Leave me a comment to continue the conversation :)
We can connect somewhere on the Interwebs here:
Coming soon, the main hub!! www.caitlinthedragon.com