I don’t remember if I’ve already used this title in a previous post, but my (now) seven percent battery left is encouraging me to disregard that and just write. I’m not going to waste any time trying the write a lovely introduction or ease my way into the point of this post as I usually try to do for writing quality’s sake. I believe that when things are difficult, within our control and out, we seek places both physically and otherwise safe. We seek places where we know we’ll feel comfortable being completely ourselves, safe, honest, comfortable. We seek the people and the places that we know we’re safe to express ourselves, not be concerned with the thoughts or judgement of those around us, where we’re free to accept the decisions we make, the way we feel, and the lives we lead. Our homes, our bedrooms, our churches, with friends, with family, or with anything that will take our minds off whatever troubles us.
I couldn’t find that place tonight.
Reality hit that even the (usually) safest places were insufficient in providing that security because, truthfully, I’m not content with who I am, the decisions I’ve been making, what I believe, what I fail to believe, how I act, how I fail to act, and how I choose to live my life. I don’t like to admit that as it places me in the most vulnerable places, exposed, and very, very fragile.
I have my outlet though.
And I seek sanctuary here with admittance and honesty, holding hope of something more, something better.