In my quest to become more authentic, embrace calm, and spark creativity, I have decided to start blogging. To be completely honest, I have already written a couple of blog posts, but they are saved in my drafts. For days I have stewed on what would make the perfect first post. I felt compelled to explain why I decided to share my story. I wanted to write a post that was perfectly engaging, invitingly witty and thought-provoking. I wanted to summarize all of the ideas that I have been pondering for months and organize my thoughts in a way that made sense. Instead I struggled, word by word, to create any kind of organized writing from my scattered ideas. I saved those words in a ‘draft’ file. They weren’t working. My ideas weren’t flowing in an order that felt just right. My true intentions weren’t described perfectly. I had failed to summarize my personality, thoughts, feelings and creativity into one blog post. And I felt like shit about it.
How was I to succeed? My goal is to journey, through writing, to locate, embrace and nurture my authentic self. And find creative contentment and calm on the way. This is supposed to be joyful, invigorating and noble. Not embarrassing, frustrating and vulnerable!
This isn’t going to work. This is just one of those creative bursts that will last a few days and will wither. Just wait it out. Save it to drafts before you embarrass yourself. Think about what the people reading will think. They’ll be sure you’ve hit crisis mode. Go wash some dishes and think this through.
And then it came to me. It hit me like a guitar string breaking during tuning. (Just when you are trying to improve something you’ve meant to do for a long while, the damn thing slaps you in the face.)
None of this was going to work if I am aiming for perfection. This journey will be void of any meaning if I am going to hold myself to impossible standards, hide from vulnerability, attempt to manicure an image of myself. I need to be brave.
Okay, this is going to get messy. I can do messy. I just need to post something! Anything! So here I am. Writing without planning and refusing to let myself erase the truths I have written.
I chose the name Brave Sorcha for my blog several days ago. Sorcha means Sara in Scottish Gaelic, which is the language of my ancestors. I almost changed it a number of times because it felt like a ‘Who do you think you are?’ kind of name. I am glad I didn’t.
After re-reading both personal narratives above written in italics, I see that I am a complicated soul. We all are. I have a strong desire to fit myself into a neat little category, but I don’t belong there. I’ve realized I have two different voices talking to me. Not the kind that are talking out loud in my head. Don’t worry. If those come, I’ll make a doctor’s appointment. I promise. I mean my own voice. My inner narrative. There is the first one, who is full of doubt, shame, people-pleasing, excuses, fear, and ultimately, defeat. I don’t get along very well with her. But she is around a lot. She has been the orchestrator of many shitty decisions in my life. Her name is Scared Sorcha.
Then, there is the second voice. That voice is Brave Sorcha talking. The one who is a cheerleader. She believes in me. She doesn’t think I am perfect. She sees my flaws and failures just as much as she sees my positive attributes and successes. The only difference is, she doesn’t let any of it define her. She believes she is worthy. I like her a lot. She makes great decisions. Scary decisions. Shit your pants kind of decisions. She’s a smart gal. (After all, if you don’t have to check your pants once in a while to make sure you’re in the clear, are you really living at all?)
I can answer that question, who do you think you are?, after all. I am Scared Sorcha. She is nervous, but she isn’t incapable of success. Because she doesn’t have to go it alone. I am Brave Sorcha, too. And she is a shit-kicking, imperfect gal that I like very much. So I choose to acknowledge Scared Sorcha. I will be gentle with her, encourage her and heal her. And as for Brave Sorcha, I choose to nourish her, challenge her, and embody her.
Scared Sorcha is being demoted to the backseat. I will let Brave Sorcha drive. Buckle up!