The post I can't write

A post I keep trying to write…

There’s a post I keep trying to write.

I have the idea. I have the outline. I know exactly what I want to say.

And then I sit in front of the screen, and I know I can.

But I cannot.

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For a long time, you think this is the fear of being seen. And it might be.

But for many of us it isn’t. Not really.

You can stand on a stage in front of hundreds of people and feel completely safe. Safe as the expert. Safe as the author. Safe as the artist. Safe with the clients and colleagues who know exactly what you’re worth.

What never feels safe is being yourself with the people closest to you.

The world sees you. Your work, your mind, your thinking, your being. The world knows you.

And the ones closest to you... don’t want to.

So you learn to live two lives. Free on the stage. Free when you travel. Free with the people who see you clearly. And quiet at home. Smaller. Invisible.

Two lives. Almost two selves.

That’s the fear that sits down next to you every time you try. Not the fear of being read or seen. The fear of being.

And it makes sense... If, as a child, you couldn’t show that you were creative, then being creative can feel dangerous now, long after the danger is gone.
If you were punished for taking up space, then taking up space can still feel like a risk.
If you were told nobody will love you if you’re too smart, then being smart out loud can feel like you’re not lovable at all.
The old rule wakes on its own, sharp and sudden, even when nothing is threatening you at all.

But the shoes that never fit, you can take them off now.
You don’t have to perform anymore.

Write. Create. Be. You don’t have those old shoes anymore.

Write one piece. Maybe just one paragraph. Just one sentence today.
Paint. Dance. Sing. Do what feels the most of You.

Give yourself one afternoon. One hour.
To do what you want.

Or do nothing at all. Just sit. Let that be enough.
Take a walk. Read a book. Drink a tea, a cappuccino. Just sit.
Watch the birds. Watch the leaves. Watch the ants carrying breadcrumbs, the light and shadow in the forest, the flowers in the meadow. Watch the sun go down.
And just be.

Let yourself feel that it’s safe now.
Because it is.

Now it is safe to write.
It is safe to create.
It is safe to be.