Sometimes the story we tell the world isn’t half as endearing as the one that lives inside us.
I read this quote today in Scary Close, a book lent by a friend. I’m only three chapters in, so I’ll resist expanding much on its content for now, but I’ll say that it is already opening doors and windows within me.
After reading this quote, I felt worried I share only the highlights of my life. Only the moments of strength, bits of wisdom and clarity, and that I resist lifting up my pain. Perhaps my best stories are locked away, kept carefully hidden so that I might be worthy of love.
So here’s something honest. Here’s something I wrote on a hard morning, through a wall of tears, as I tried to make sense of the mess.