I needed a place to write freely.
Where I won’t have to worry about expectations.
Where I don’t have to wonder if, somehow, my thoughts on life and death and trauma and widowhood will tank my business, scare my friends away, and put my family at risk.
A place where no one expects me to be an inspiration and have something profound to say.
A place where I can explore both light and shadows.
And not get stuck in a toxic loop of positivity when I desperately need to face the demon in front of me and call it by its name.
That’s why I started yet another blog. The others have reputations now.
The truth is, I desperately need to be vulnerable and raw. And I haven’t been allowed to be very much of that.
The truth is, I need to write out the textures of reality and be accepted for everything that I am, feel, and have experienced.
My only reason for publishing publicly is to keep one foot anchored in reality, to provide the tension I need to pay awareness to what I create.
Essentially, I don’t write for an audience. I write because I must. I write because the word shards are tearing through my soul.
If my words resonate with you, I am glad. At least they finally have purpose beyond my bloody remains.
Walking with Spiders 