The Story I'm Telling Myself...
...about being heart-led rather than fear-led
We all tell ourselves stories, and over time, those stories change as we do. These are the stories that I’m telling myself in this time of my life; they are neither right nor wrong. The characters in these stories are probably telling themselves a different version of the same events. That’s okay. But I believe that choosing to tell our unfiltered stories can bring clarity, insight, and healing if we let them.
I had a dream last night that, after sending out a newsletter, I logged on to my account to find I had 300 new subscribers. This was after reading Brené Brown’s newest book, Atlas of the Heart, where she describes the nuances of unconscious and conscious expectations and, for the first time, I allowed myself to acknowledge the hopes and dreams I have.
It’s hard for me to admit this, but I have expectations for this space that I’m creating. In my head, I see myself showing up consistently, listening to what this community has to say, and turning this little newsletter into something. It’s such a vulnerable thing for me to share. I’ve lived my life with little to no expectations about anything really, and to imagine that I could build something that would bring value to hundreds of people’s lives is bordering on narcissism to me. It’s vulnerable because, if it doesn’t happen, then yes, I will be disappointed; but more than that, I will feel a sense of shame for having put my hopes into words, words that you’re reading right now.
I’m at the point right now where I usually give up. Whether that be an Etsy shop or a proofreading business or a blog, there comes a point one to three months in where it feels too hard, I’m not good enough, and there’s no point in continuing. And I’m feeling those feelings again (hence my late newsletters the last few weeks). But not writing these words, not sending out the letter, feels like I’m betraying myself. I might feel more comfortable if I stop — it’s vulnerable to share certain parts of myself and my life and not really know how anyone else is receiving it — but I think I would also feel regret that I didn’t persist doing something that is real to me.
Susan Cain writes in her book, Bittersweet, that people often don’t grow from success — they grow through struggle, hardships, and disappointment. Those are the things that point us to who we truly are, what we value, and the hurts we hope to heal in ourselves and others. It’s easy to be happy and kind and generous when things are going well; but who am I when things aren’t going the way I thought they would? What version of me is being revealed as challenges strip away everything else? Will I give up, like I usually do? Or will I persist? If I do give up, is it because that wasn’t really where my heart was leading me, or am I just afraid that it’ll hurt too much if I don’t achieve what I hoped to?
Interestingly enough, for the first time that I’ve endeavoured to start a venture, I’m delicately untying myself from the elusive goal of becoming ‘successful,’ which often has little to do with my own flourishing and more with how others perceive and respond to my work. For the first time, I’m here for myself, and if others want to come along, then great. I’m so glad to have you. But if you’re like nah, I’m good, then I won’t take that as a sign that I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. I finally understand that some people will want what I’m putting out here and some won’t, but that has little to do with who I am and whether or not my stories matter. This is about living in my authenticity and hoping there’s more people like me, who aren’t perfect or experts or ‘successful’ (in the traditional sense), that are journeying this path, too.
What I’m learning about being heart-led rather than fear-led is that fear still exists and imperfections abound, but you show up anyway. It’s not about doing it right, but about being present to the journey. Fear leads us to believe we are safe in our comfortable bubble, even if we sense that it’s becoming more of a cage meant to keep us small. It follows the map that was handed down to us, even when we can see that the destination ahead is not actually where we want to go. Bravery is acknowledging that the fear is real, but instead of looking away, we choose to feel it and ask what it’s telling us about what we need. It’s taking step by trepidatious step outside the bubble and realizing that nothing is truly safe, but the risk is worth the beauty we find. It’s choosing a new path and trusting that, though it may be difficult terrain, it will lead us closer to home. It’s seeing others in their cages and knowing we need to come out of our own before we can possibly drop keys for anyone else.
I do my best to not write in a way that would try to provide answers — I’m not sure there are any. But I’m here, climbing out of my cage and hoping my words are keys I can scatter around for the beautiful, rowdy prisoners*
*check out the poem Dropping Keys by Hafiz
What dreams exist in the quiet part of your soul that feel vulnerable to share or even speak out loud?
Is there fear? What is it telling you about who you are, what you need, or what’s most important to you?
I've had so many of these feelings recently with deciding to start my own newsletter, and publishing my knitting patterns. It's so difficult to balance humility and confidence.
I love your writing Aleesha. Your essay here is so poignant and resonates so deeply for me, and I expect many others.
First, thank you for being so honest and vulnerable in this piece, and clear about the journey and the path that may follow.
Second, your essay is so inspiring to me. Vulnerability is scary, and venturing out, even in pursuit of a fiery passion, can be a frightening journey. For me, life can feel like a series of ideas and inspirations stored away and not pursued, roads not taken because I feared what the journey might bring, but what others might judge. I applaud you for striking forth here, and inviting others like me to join you.
Lastly, your have a wonderful way with words, and I find your writing, engaging, thoughtful, ooen and easy to read. Thank you!