Writing as an act of love

When I go to the scary places, the places I resist the most, the very first thing my body does is to close off my throat so that I cannot speak.

It thinks that by keeping the safety engaged on the loaded gun that no one will get hurt. 

When my body says no to speaking, the written word becomes my voice. Almost like a prosthetic device installed to repair what’s impaired. 

Back when I lived in San Francisco, I developed a series of large abscesses on my throat that threatened to close off my pharynx completely. 

I would go to the doctor and they would drain the abscesses by inserting a large needle into the blister-like pockets to aspirate the puss. 

In time they told me that my tonsils would need to go. An entire part of me removed completely. 

I can’t help but think that my decades of trapping my emotions in my throat lead to that. The loaded gun misfired inside of me. 

I’m learning to process my emotions differently these days, a lot of it through the act of writing. 

I love what Glennon Doyle Melton says about this – 

Writing is not about creating tidy paragraphs that sound lovely or choosing the “right” words. It’s just about noticing who you are and noticing life and sharing what you notice. When you write your truth, it is a love offering to the world because it helps us feel braver and less alone.

I do feel less alone and braver when I write. I feel more like me. 

Writing here to you is like I’ve finally found a way to put the gun away. 

I no longer fire within when I have a way to let the fire out. 

 

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