The Caged Bird Sings For Herself

Ok, so obviously I haven't written in a while. It's been almost a year. I get it. But who reads this anyway? I suppose it really doesn't matter who else is reading; it should be enough that I express myself. I don't have to pretend others care. There is a certain freedom in the lack of responsibility.

What has hung me up for so long (well, for much of this time) is the fact that I associate much of this thing with my past. Just look at it. It is covered with the life I have (tried to) leave behind. It's honestly difficult for me to look at. I guess that says something though. So I am trying to be brave. I am trying to listen to myself and see what I find. And I am trying to take back what is mine.

Part of me embraces my past and what this blog stands for, and part of me wishes to cut it all free with the hopes that in the process I find freedom in myself. Do we all need to cut out the past in order to make room for the future, or do we somehow incorporate it, painfully or not, into our lives? How do we really gain freedom?

I don't want to see myself as doing something for someone else, and yet what propels me to be the best I can be is, ironically, other people. Does this mean that I become a self-made prisoner when I express myself? Is that only the case when I do it for the approval of others? Or only if I become a narcisist? Does "being the best I can be" necessarily include gaining the approval of others?

God I hope not.

So here I am, writing for myself, and I can't help but wonder if I really am doing this all for myself.

When I started this blog it was because I had an interest in writing a book. I had held back on writing the stories for the book because I was afraid that I would alienate myself and hurt my family, as they would be key players in many of the stories. I told myself that I needed to gain some experience writing (which is, of course, true) and the blog would be a great place to let it all hang out. Not to mention the fact that my boyfriend at the time lived, slept, and breathed blogs and all they stood for.

So where was my place in all of this? How would I come to terms with my own self-doubt and fears of hurting my family coupled with the expectations of the others who would read these stories?

The fact was, I didn't.

I was too tied up in worrying about other people and wondering if I would gain their approval. I would like to think that I am now above that, but I know that it is a process. I am not narcissistic enough to believe that anything I make is going to be liked by everyone or even myself, but I am tired of that holding me back from the experience of screwing up and perhaps discovering more about myself in the process. And in finding success.

So I am doing this for myself.

I guess I believe that we really are an accumulation of all of our experiences and we just wouldn't be who we are if we didn't embrace the bad with the good. We only gain freedom when we accept ourselves, flaws and all.

I want to believe that this is cathartic and I will now propel into another land above sadness and regret and pain and move towards freedom. And I suppose I am. Slowly.

But I am getting impatient.