“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” --Ernest Hemingway
Hemingway gets it. He gets that writing, true and honest writing, can be painful. But I once heard someone say that true agony comes from keeping an untold story inside of you. So which is worse? The heartache from keeping a story within or the painful process that writing that story can entail?
I used to be the one who would bottle things up. I stored everything within. The parts of me that felt unheard or misunderstood, I kept. The parts that wanted to fix the world but couldn't, stayed in my heart. The parts where I made mistakes, I held inside as shame. And any bit of hurt from words and turmoil in my world, I internalized deep within. I used to be the one who would keep it all in. It would pile and pile until, when at the brink and filled with one more thing, I would shatter into a million pieces and be unable to control my emotions.
As a young girl, I think I always hoped that I would grow out of being sensitive. That I would grow up and out of the way I bottled up and tucked the weight of my world neatly away. That I would learn how to hold back my tears and to honestly talk about how I was feeling. The truth: There are still parts of my girlhood, the bottling things up and holding my anxieties in, that I still deal with today.
I in no way had a hard childhood or girlhood. I experienced joy and life as full as can be. In fact, I would say I had a model childhood filled with so much love. But I still bottled things up. The hard things, overwhelming things, even at times the simple things, and the rough parts of life that are so very present, I held within. I can explain the feeling as pressure from the inside out, on the walls of my heart, on my chest, and an unsettling.
That unsettling, the pressure on my walls within, I now know as anxiety. Those millions of pieces I would shatter into? A panic attack.
This past weekend, after a beautiful day in the mountains with Matt, literally a perfect day full of so much joy in the simple things--fresh air, driving through the country, homemade fudge, perfect blue skies, and wonderful conversation--I came home and within one hour felt overwhelmed by the things I had left behind that day. The internalized things I had forgotten about while enjoying a day in the fresh air, came crashing over me, like a wave I couldn't run from, within just moments of being back in the city. Whatever I had bottled up, was starting to press from the inside out, about to shatter if one more thing was internalized. I was on the verge of having a panic attack. I had been bottling things up over the past week, month, or who knows how long--and something triggered that pressure, that unsettling, and the brink of tears (for what felt like no reason at all).
The difference between now and a younger me, is that I know myself. I know this very part of me. And instead of hiding this part of my story, and dealing with the agony of keeping it within, I am talking about it. Writing about it. And as Hemingway said, its painful. No one wants to say "hey, I have anxiety and sometimes break down into a full on panic attack!" It is painful to be so honest about a part of myself I am not very proud of, but worth it because talking and writing about it brings healing. For my whole life, I have been the master at keeping my anxiety a secret from everyone (except my Mom and Matt, who know me better than I know myself it seems). But I think its time to face it, and say it, and write it.
Back to this past weekend--on the verge of a panic attack, Matt, who knows this part of me well, encouraged me to get outdoors. To do something I love--to go for a swim. The wonderful thing is, that Matt has helped me bring this part of my story to life. He helps diminish that anxiety and bottling up as being that voice of reason and truth. He has made it clear that when you tell a hard part of your story, share about a part of yourself you are not so proud of, the response from those who love you is solid and steadfast. That they help you through it and help you overcome it.
I am still figuring out how to write all of this--how to make it known on my blog that this is something within me, that I deal with on a very real scale. But I am realizing that the agony of keeping something bottled up and untold is far harder than the process of writing about it, or telling someone about it. To me, that is the worse choice.
To love myself truer and deeper, writing about this part of me is necessary. And hopefully, it inspires you to journal, write, or talk about the untold story in your life.
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I am writing today as part of the Love Yourself Linkup--an ongoing series that will focus on topics such as self image and body image. A community of woman will talk about our thoughts on these subjects, tell stories of our personal experience, share what has inspired us, challenged us, and more. Learn more over at Ann the Adventurer. You can read my thoughts from the past weeks on true beauty, gossip, and writing to an 80 year old me. If you have a story to tell, and want to be a part of the link up, join the conversation by writing and clicking to enter it below.
