Writing for Me, not You

It's just past 5:30am on Tuesday, September 6 and I am awake and on my computer writing. Why you may ask? Let me share with you.

A few weeks ago I listened to a podcast of Rob Bell's (the RobCast) and he had a guest on: Glennon Doyle, or Momastery. She has an absolutely incredible story of pain, struggle, love, perseverance, finding God in unexpected places, and simply writing because she needs to. She wakes up every morning at a certain time and writes for 1.5 hours. She does this because she is an alcoholic and needs to write as part of her recovery; it helps her navigate through life and all it entails. Now, I am not an alcoholic, but I am in recovery for another addiction. Do I write because I need to for my recovery?

I have had a yearning to write for years now. 

Book ideas. Papers. Essays. Notes on too many pages I can't count anymore. I have no idea whether any of these will formulate into anything, but there is a deep desire for me to write. In the past I have tried to write on subjects I thought other people would want to read, but it simply lead me down a path of checking the post over and over again to see how many 'hits' on my site I got. I would tell my wife if I got a certain amount and be proud others are reading it. But, this is arrogant. This is rooted in one of my default character positions which is the belief 'I have things people NEED to hear.'

Wow. As I sit here and right I am finally gripped with the truth and levity of this last sentence.

I am 30. For the first 22 years of my life I basically lived my life from the perspective and what I thought other people wanted me to be. I would listen to any and every voice and if it said, 'you're great at (insert thing)' I would think it was who I am. These voices told me who I was, but there was another voice I rarely listened to, if ever, my own. 

22 years of listening and doing what I thought others needed me to do. 

22 years of telling myself to shut-up because what I thought wasn't important.

22 years of hiding. 

22 years defining myself by nothing more than the newest 'thing' a person liked about me.

22 years of being blown here, there, and everywhere.

22 years.

22 years.

22 years.

22 years of this lead to internal hell. I lived my life in isolation most days, but not showing anyone. On the outside I was a confident, outgoing, 'life of the party' kind of person, but inside I just wanted all the noise to cease and be still. At any opportunity I would isolate myself and go to a place where I thought I was accepted, but I continued to be deceived.

When I was about 10-11 years old I saw a picture. A picture which said, 'come we will accept you,' 'you don't have to pretend here,' 'anyone is welcome.' This picture led to more pictures, which led to videos, which led to chatting online with strangers.

Porn.

It captivated me. I was in control. I was me. It was ok to be me. Everyone liked me. This is of course the lie pornography gives to users: the belief of knowing, loving, and caring. The truth is no one knew me. It was and is just acting. 

Within these 22 years I immersed myself heavily into this. 2, 3, 4, 5 hours a day believing I was accepted. This pseudo acceptance pretty much destroyed believing I would ever be accepted anywhere else. It destroyed any knowledge of who I actually was. At the end of these 22 years, 12 of which was immersed in porn, I was a shell.

Rock bottom was painful. Not because I was found out by my fiancé. Not because I lost my job and an unbelievable organization. Not because I lost most of my friends. Not because people were incredibly disappointed. Not because I had to always be watched while on the computer. Not because of the withdrawal (but it was horrible). All of these things compounded the pain, but the source of the pain, the source of it all was I was left with me. A me I didn't know.

Over the last 8 years I have been on a discovery of who I am and who I have been created to be. It has lead me to unexpected places and realizations, which have simply amazed me.

I was told I was extroverted my whole life. I am an introvert.

I was told my whole life my love language is touch. It's acts of service, words of affirmation and then touch.

I was told I was good at sports. I am, but am not defined by it now.

I was told I was the life of the party. I hate like being that person, but I do like standing with one or two people at a party and chat.

I was told I loved being the centre of attention. I can't stand being the centre of attention.

It has been quite a journey over the last 8 years. A journey of stepping into me and not a version I thought was better than me. This journey is far from over as I continue to find new things about myself and continue to run from what people think I should be, or what I believe people need me to be. And so I get back to the reason I am writing.

I am not writing for you, but I am writing for me and I don't feel bad at all! I am writing online because I need to get these words out, but not so I can look and see how many people have visited my site, but because these words need to be put outside of my own head.

The truth is, no one NEEDS to hear the things I am saying. I need to hear them and write them and experience them.

And so, through the inspiration of Glennon Doyle I write. I write for 1hr each morning and press "publish" when the hour is over. No edits, just me.

I am privileged to have gone through the experiences I have to lead me to this place. This place is nice, heavenly, a place I am connecting with my Creator instead of being separated, hell.