For my first post on this experiment called my internal life blog I thought it was important to explore why I chose to put these thoughts, feelings, and miscellaneous stuff that I have inside me out for the world to see. Stuff that many people keep to themselves. Stuff some people can’t even acknowledge lives inside of them, Why would I do this? Why do I write?

I don’t know exactly when I first wrote spontaneously about my internal life. I remember taking a creative writing class my senior year of high school. I do not remember if it was the inspiration for my beginning to write but it played a vital role in my discovery of this way to express whatever it was that I was feeling or thinking at the time. It started there and has continued in fits and spurts ever since.

I am not sure why I decided to write, but I know that when I began it just flowed out of me, raw and untamed. I didn’t spend much time thinking about what I was writing. Grammar was not a concern. If there was a form, it was mostly unintentional. It was just this thing that came out of me. Sometimes I didn’t even recognize what I had written when I was done, but I knew one thing. I felt better when it was done. Even if I was completely emotionally drained afterward. It felt good. Like something that needed so desperately to be heard had finally been given a voice. I have not always written with regularity, but it is always there for me as a way to express whatever is going on inside and connect with a piece of me that has too often been ignored.

I have struggled to express myself throughout my life. I learned at an early age to stuff my feelings. This may have happened for a multitude of reasons. I didn’t know how to express what was going on inside me, maybe because I didn’t understand what I wanted to express. Maybe it was because I didn’t think it mattered. Maybe it was because no one was there to listen. Whatever the reason, I learned to stuff my feelings. This coping mechanism may have served me well at times, but this armor that has kept me safe has also had negative side effects. It isolates me from others even when I crave connection. I use it to hide when I actually want to be seen. It weighs me down and tires me out. It keeps me from growing. As can happen too often, the walls I put up to protect me can turn into a prison of my own making. Writing has been a way for me to take off the armor, to express what needs to be expressed, to show and be who I really am, even if only temporarily.

So, now I have decided to share this piece of me. A piece of me that I have shared with very few others. Am I just seeking external validation? Am I just looking for attention? Is it all just a cry out for help? The truth is that it may be those things and yet it feels more like it is just the right thing to do. I am not sure why, but writing has always helped me. Maybe reading it can help someone else. Maybe It doesn’t matter why because it just feels right and that listening to my feelings is more important than understanding them sometimes. I hope whoever reads this gets something out if it. If no one does at least I know that I do and that may be enough.