My God, but it is a vulnerable feeling to expose myself as utterly and completely as I have been doing here.

My superficial instincts tell me to shy away from it, cover it up, gloss it over and make things look at least a little bit pretty. But my deepest instincts - the ones that come with unnerving intensity directly from core of my being- they give different direction. A voice of unquestionable authority tells me that I must stand and stare at myself unflinchingly, until I want to squirm and hide from the power of my own examination. It tells me that I need this, that I need to feel naked and unprotected, that I need to offer myself over to this, fully and completely.

My gut tells me that I have to strip myself down to the very core, crack open all the hidden parts of myself and give them an unfailingly honest appraisal. I must dismantle myself, the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly and truly regard the reality of me for the first time. I must be raw, and vulnerable and utterly devoid of pretense or façade.

I have to be both brutally honest, and (perhaps more difficult) abidingly kind to myself in the process. The universe has shown me that this is not a path that is satisfied to be walked gently or slowly, no tentative and delicate steps will do. No, this road must be stepped onto boldly, passionately, bravely - and that if I hesitate or doubt I will stumble, and fall and hurt.

I am consumed by the need to write this journey, consumed in a way that I have never before experienced. The writing of this and the living of this are intertwined in the deepest parts of me, so that one without the other is only partial experience. Perhaps this is because although this path is grounded in physicality on one level, it is at its deepest roots a soul journey; and a journey of the soul begs to be recorded.

Right now it is 1am, and my house is asleep. My children are nestled together, dreaming fantastical childhood dreams, in the big bed in the room they share. My husband lies sleeping in our room, on one extreme edge of the king sized bed, while my pillow lies empty at the other edge. Those few feet between us might as well be miles upon miles of separation. Even the dogs and the cats are quiet now.

I was in bed just moments ago, but my mind was whirling with words and phrases until there was no choice but to get up and purge them from my brain. Any writer I have ever spoken with is deeply familiar with the way words often demand to become something in the wee hours of the night; where in the quietest darkness what is most true and real finally feels free to come forth.

And so I comply with the need to quiet the words that are bouncing around my brain, and I get up and return to the computer I had walked away from only a half hour before. I sit once again in front of the bright screen and wait for the inspiration to take over my fingers and give release to the words that kept me from sleeping.

raw…
vulnerable…
exposed…
dismantle…
brutal…
bold…
honest…
honest…
honest…

As I sit here writing, I suddenly realize that it is possible to use the exercise of writing as much to separate and distance oneself from reality as it is to deepen the experience and understand it. As much as writing allows me to reach deep inside myself, it also allows me to step back from myself. I wonder where to find the balance that will allow me to quench the need to record my process, while still satisfying the need to stay present and live it. The balance between benefiting from catharsis without wallowing in self-pity. To write from deep, deep, deep inside this life, and not from a safe and respectful distance.

And as honest and deep as I have gone so far, I know I need to push myself to greater and greater levels of honesty. I need to be even more vulnerable. I need to strip off all my defenses, I need to start tearing down these walls that allow me to pull away, shut down, close off from my emotions. I know with complete clarity that my strength in this is only going to come from being willing to be fragile in a way I have never before allowed myself to be.

I thank you all for being willing to bear witness to my experience. Regardless of whether you know me intimately and have been invited along because of the depths of my faith in you, or whether you have discovered the words of a faceless stranger through random clicks of your mouse – you are giving me a priceless gift. You are holding my hand, sharing your wisdom, saying “I know, I’ve been there, you will survive”. You are giving me the space to dig deeply, and to feel safe being less than perfect. Your comments and emails help me find solace and comfort in the darkest moments, and again when I am soaring high. And with this, you give me the strength and motivation to keep digging, to keep unearthing new layers of myself, to keep putting myself out there in spite of fear or convention or discomfort.

You see, you are all a part of this journey now. Thank you for walking with me.