#BlogLife674 - Those closest to me, made me insecure

Late afternoony greetings to all of you. I did not want to get up today but not because I felt downcast any longer, I just didn't feel rested enough.

I let my mind wander and it flickered back to all the unfinished unpublished and published stories on wattpad and here on this blog.

Every day my brain conjures up pieces of fresh material but all of it, can be transferred unto a page.

I'm just waiting to warm up, even though the sun is shining brightly at the moment.

I'm willing the chicken rolls I'm cooking to hurry up for a very late breakfast.

I feel the few people I trusted with the details of my homelife just really didn't give a damn and it's like knowing I had difficulty expressing myself and that I hated confrontation, made them exploit my personality even further.

They realised I wouldn't object when they hogged the whole conversation.

Their voice was the only one that mattered. Mine was squashed, feeding into that feeling that I didn't matter and neither did my opinions.

I would read stories and have dreams that unlocked my potential.

I didn't realise that I couldn't write, the reason that I couldn't tell my stories on paper was because I had no voice.

There was not a single safe place to share it. Family shut me down and took pride in keeping me quiet.

Friends talked over me and made assumptions, without asking me the truth.

Cousins thought I was not worth their time because I wasn't superficial and worldly.

They had the perception I was ignorant because I let them ramble and make jabs and didn't speak up.

There wasn't much that held any importance to me but writing and storytelling I had an inkling that was the link to my freedom.

I just didn't know how to unlock it, not back then. I think I flipped maybe between caring about others views on me and being indifferent.

What I did know is that by the time I was an adult and living on my own and uncaged from the stigma of being thought of as a twit..

It still wasn't any easier to talk. I just assumed the confidence would grow and the filter would drop but in some ways it hasn't.

And I think that's why I struggle to work on and complete the stories in particular, it forces me to open up and give a lil piece of me away or expose me to the world and that's terrifying.

I don't even know why I worry so much, it's not as though they are works of art, just simple tales.

They are still precious though, maybe I am avoiding the conflict I'll have to write or maybe I don't want to create the distance that will have to separate them?

A part of me knows, that I am holding myself back but it still isn't by choice.

Let's end this on a collective positive note, something I rarely am capable of doing.

Repeat after me....

I believe in myself and my abilities.

I can achieve anything I set my mind too.

I won't let fear hold me back.

I am not going to stay pushed down but instead will gather the courage to grow and sparkle and dazzle the world.

Lastly, I, We are pretty great people, don't let people convince you otherwise.

Pep talk done, see you tomorrow...