my voice

Last week I was looking through old journals.  And it's funny.  I saw this pattern with my voice. I had a long phase when I was writing journals, but not telling the truth.  I wanted to tell the truth, but I just couldn't say it.  I couldn't put into words, even for my own eyes, what was honestly happening in my world.

So then my world broke and I had to start over.  And my voice had to be reborn as well.

My first journal after The Fall is full of quotes--the voices of others--that expressed what I was experiencing.

This is anger, they told me.

This is fear.

This is sorrow.

This is courage.

This is trust.

This is hope.

And then I started to write, in the voice of a child, about things like my favorite color and my favorite food and childhood memories.  Things I was sure of.  Facts that I knew.

And I wrote more, and my voice grew up, slowly, explaining to myself what I had known before, and what I knew now, and what it all meant as an integrated whole.

I learned to say:  no, I disagree, and I don't like that.

I learned to say:  this is what I want, this is what I need, and I can't compromise with the truth.

It was ugly at times and scary almost always, growing from silence to sound.

And now I have this voice.  This voice to tell this story.

My voice, and no one else's.

My story, and no one else's.

My freedom, which is a tiny piece of the freedom offered to us all.

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