WriteSarah

I’ve always felt like I never quite fit.

Never quite fit into what others wanted me to be, or what I wanted to be. Never quite made the cut. Never quite had real friends, real support, real guidance. Never quite knew what it felt like to be accepted, to truly fit.

There’s something to be said about being beaten down so much, that you’re at the point where you can’t even see yourself anymore.

When you’re at that point, face flat on the cold wet, cigarette littered ground, there comes a moment where something inside of you snaps. Something inside of you demands to be heard.

For me it happened slowly. I started writing.

I started expressing my deepest pains, started using my voice, started pushing back the silence that had smothered me for so long. Writing set me free from the world and it set me free from myself. But even writing had its sticky spots.

I wanted my writing to be more than it started out to be. I wanted to really be heard. I wanted the pain that had stifled me for so long to be ingrained in text for the world to see – undeniable and un-erasable.

I tried writing for an online magazine. It was tough.

Tough to have an editor take my words and change them. Tough to have someone delete half of what I wrote, re-arrange sentences, and then slap my name on it. Tough to realize that my writing didn’t fit into what they wanted it to be. Tough to realize that my writing (and me by association) wasn’t acceptable the way it was.

I tried again. I embraced humility – fully embraced it – and asked for a second shot. I asked a few times actually. And yet nothing.

So now as I sit here, bowl of cheerios getting soggy beside me as I type, I’m realizing that I don’t want to fit anymore. I don’t want my brain to be ruled by the idea that I SHOULD fit anymore.

Which leaves me with this: an emotional, often over-personal blog, that’s 100% me.

And I’m good with that. I’m good with that because I have a family that accepts me, friends that accept me, and a man that accepts me. I have my people and I fit with them.

Writing helped me to find that place of acceptance within myself, and ultimately, writing helped get me here, to this place of not caring about fitting anymore. Of being happy by just being me.

And Oh sweet blueberry pancakes, it’s a good place to be in.