I was walking back to my office from a meeting. The wind was blowing with the fury that autumn winds seem to have, pushing me along and threatening me with rogue raindrops  The sky was gray and I was pretty sure my shoe was giving me a pretty gnarly blister on my heel.  I was thinking about my meeting, about the woman walking in front of me in her flip flops, and about the post brewing in my brain.

Earlier, I’d decided I would continue to explore my “voice” on this blog, which has been a real struggle for me.  It’s a tough thing to figure out what my angle is, what type of blog this would be.  I mean, I’ve been blogging for something ridiculous like 11 years.  I’ve said it before (and recently, at that): part of the reason I left this space for so long was because I wasn’t sure I had a voice.

What hit me today between the wind and the rain and those tragic flip flops was that I do very much have a voice.  At times it is loud and obnoxious.  Others, defensive and hard.  Sometimes, it’s soft and reassuring. Always genuine, honest, and thoughtful.

Oh, I have a voice.

That has never been the problem. The problem is that I got myself into thinking that my voice wasn’t worth sharing.  I convinced myself I had nothing worth saying.  I shut my own self down.  Isn’t it funny/sad/unfair how we can be our own worst enemy?  

So here’s my open letter to me:

Dear Self,

Get the eff out of my way.



What do you think? Was I too harsh? 😉


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