Adulthood is weird.
At least for me it is. I remember the first foray into this stage of my life, when I got my first job. I enjoyed the financial freedom alot, the measure of authority that came with the job, not so much the responsibility that came with it. Reality has a way of punching you in the throat when you least expect it, and with each punch and each screw up, the confidence of youth slowly but surely morphs into caution.
I got to a point where caution eventually became a gag. In certain spheres of my life, I became too concerned with how others would feel about the things I say. I became overly cautious. I’d lost my voice… only for it to become aggressively loud at work in the wrong ways with people whose impulsiveness affected me.
Writing became the means for me to start talking again. If I needed to lash out at family members, I wrote it in a journal. If I wanted to complain about colleagues, celebrate a win or express gratitude for the blessings in my life, I blogged about it. If I had feelings I needed to express, they came out in poems. And if I had dreams I couldn’t turn into a reality, they became stories.
Unsaid things weigh so much more than we think they do. We underestimate how sometimes just saying something out loud in some way, without fear of judgement or betrayal of confidences, alleviates the burden and brings perspective.
Not everyone is fortunate enough to have a safe space be a person. But it is possible to create that space for yourself.
My pen became my safe space. Writing became my voice. And slowly but surely, my actual voice is starting to work again too.