I have always known I have a story to tell

I have always known I had a story to tell. A story to write. A story to share. I have always known I was meant to write. To share. To tell stories. I have always known.

But then I let fear and the desire for perfection to creep in. Stopping me from telling my story. Stopping me from writing my story. Stopping me from sharing because I allowed myself to believe I was not good enough. That I did not deserve to stand out from the pack. That my place was safely mired in mediocrity.

I listened to people telling me everyone wants to be a writer. That there are loads of writers out there. Better than me. More talented than me. More connected then me.

I allowed myself to doubt. To box myself in. Because I was afraid that people would not read what I wrote. Would not be interested in my story. Would think who does she think she is. I allowed the voices of people outside of me diminish my life. Plant seeds in my head

I allowed myself to listen to the naysayers who laughed at my first attempt to write a book. The book that for some reason is now reaching more people than I ever believed because of the criticism I got when it first came out.  I allowed myself to  stay in the mediocrity lane because I was afraid of rejection. Afraid of failure.

And then yesterday my husband asked me to listen to the words of a wise man, Leonard Cohen. A man who has seen his own darkness. Who has been to the valley of death and back again. A man who poetically said, “I could not find a voice. It was only when I read, even in translation, the works of Larka. I understood there is a voice. I did not copy his voice. I did not dare.  But he gave me permission to find a voice. To locate a voice.  That is to locate a self. A self that is not fixed. A self that struggles for its own existence. And as I grew older, I understood that instructions came with this voice. What were these instructions? The instructions were never to lament casually and if one is to express the great inevitable defeat that awaits us all, it must be done within the strict confines of dignity and beauty and so I had a voice but I did not have an instrument. I did not have a song. …I was an indifferent guitar player…. I never in a thousand years thought of myself as a musician or as a singer.”

Those words yesterday awakened something in me that I did not know was even there. It awakened me to myself. To my writer self. To that self that has been lurking beneath the surface for many years but has been afraid to raise her head because I have not allowed her. Because I have suppressed her. Keeping her safely within the confines of the lines I have allowed others to draw for me. 

But Cohen’s words allowed me the capacity to accept it is now time for me to allow her to be free. To accept at some point in our lives we will all face defeat. And as long as we are able to do so within the strict confines of dignity and beauty, we will always find our voice. Our voice of self. Of truth. Of freedom to be who we are meant to be. Outside the lines of what society and those around us try to draw for us. Define us by. Confine us by.

Remembering always poetry (and writing) come from a place that no one commands or conquers. It is a gift that it just there. When I reach deep. When I let go. Without expectation or fear. When I surrender to that self that is struggling for its own existence.

Thank you Leonard Cohen for helping me to accept I have  story to tell. I am a writer and I deserve all I am worthy of when I believe and accept the self that is not fixed. When I claim my voice.