People can say what they want, but I said what I said.
My writing is for me not for anyone else. Artists don’t create art for other people. They don’t paint or write with the intention of appealing to the masses. If they did it would be a mess. Because when we create out of fear we lose our credibility and our authenticity and our voice.
I had someone reach out to me recently about a post I made. They didn’t want me to write what I wrote and felt the need to say so as if they got an opinion. That’s why I write from a place of truth and honesty. That’s why I protect those I write about through anonymity. They don’t get a say. They don’t get to have an opinion about my feelings and my thoughts. If it’s hurtful to them, that’s not my problem.
People project their fears onto others. It’s not a reflection of us, but rather a reflection of them. When people make my choices and my feelings about them, it reveals a lot and it validates that I’m on the right path and that other people’s opinions of me don’t matter.
My friend told me a long time ago, “When people show you who they are, believe them.” I’ve held onto that. I’ve returned to that more times than I can count. Whether their intentions are good or bad is irrelevant. It’s through actions, not words that we show ourselves. I get caught up in my own reality and often fail to look at the facts. But then I’m reminded of what I subconsciously already knew, but refused to acknowledge.
We know. We always know. I knew deep in my bones that Chase was all wrong for me. It felt cosmic, it felt destined, but my refusal to accept the facts right in front of me all along led me to react out of fear. I, for a moment, forgot that I’m entitled to an opinion. In fact, that’s the only thing I’m entitled to. If someone tries to disconfirm and invalidate my opinion, it’s not about me. People try desperately to micromanage outcomes that make them feel uncomfortable, but the facts remain, my feelings, and my experiences are facts.
I poured my heart out, I processed my way through deep grief and confusion. I did it for love. At the heart of all my words are love. My words, as deep and vulnerable as they were, were my truth. But Chase didn’t feel the same way. I wrote about it, I wrote about my hope and unwillingness to accept his facts. He showed me who he was and I didn’t want to believe him. In a way, I was living the words Taylor Swift wrote in her song "Haunted". My words were raw and unfiltered and from an egoless place. It took courage to say what I felt compelled to say. It took humility, even though it felt like I was speaking about humiliation.
Chase’s words rang true when I read that sharp and venomous text. He was mad, he felt the need, with no compassion, to attack my vulnerability. He made it about him. And it was, my words were about him, but they were also none of his business. He may have felt some type of way about my feelings, but his words were hurtful, and yet surprisingly motivating. They spoke volumes about his character. They showed me who he was.
And maybe he isn't all wrong for me. Maybe I'm mistaken. Maybe his words, as hurtful as they were, were motivated by love, but they certainly didn't feel like that. I maintain the stance that I love or maybe loved him. The action of falling into it changed me, it made me someone I fully embrace today. I'm grateful to have felt it, to have allowed myself the pleasure and experience of opening myself up to another. Maybe the feeling was mutual, or maybe it wasn't. That's beside the point. It happened, I couldn't do anything about it. I didn't choose my feelings, and I couldn't control his feelings either. But I don't regret anything I did or said. My only regret is that for a moment I allowed his opinion to dictate what I wanted to say. I allowed his words to seep in and confuse me about my own feelings, my own intentions, my own experience. But he doesn't get to do that. Those feelings of doubt and frustration were fleeting, thank god. They dissipated and I was left with the deep courage to stand up for myself and rebel from the hold he temporarily had on me.
I write this not to retaliate or blame him. I write this not because I’m the victim. I’m writing this because one person doesn’t get the luxury of influencing my art, of what I feel called to do. I left my husband and I quit my job and I moved away from my hometown because I was made to feel small for having opinions and for asking for what I needed. Again, that’s not on them. They were never the problem. They weren’t the villains. They were the motivators that inspired me to start writing this blog in the first place.
I was able to use my collective experiences as fuel for the fire that became my words and my healing tool for what I felt like was for the greater good. The philosopher Jeremy Bentham founded the philosophy, “The greatest good for the greatest number.” His words have always rang true for me. We may hurt individuals, but that doesn’t mean we are actually causing harm. If our actions are rooted in love, nothing else matters.
My friend and I were reading cards last night for the full moon. We share our deepest darkest thoughts with each other constantly. Last night was no different. I told her about my pain, my embarrassment, and the violation of what felt like an attack on my heart. But she reminded me that, despite my deep feelings of hurt, the fact remains that love doesn’t get to be trampled on. Love doesn’t get to be questioned. If someone has a problem with me expressing myself through love, I can feel hurt and rejection, but I also get to hold my head high and stand my ground knowing I didn’t do anything wrong.
People may convince me or try to invalidate my love, but I get to make the choice of whether or not I want it to influence my art. And I don’t. My art, my writing is a reflection of me, not anyone else. If they want to paint the canvas differently, that’s their prerogative. They can start their own blog which I may or may not subscribe to.
In the end, our actions mean something, our responses mean something, our feelings mean something. We get to experience them, we get to live through them, we get to react to them. This is my story and it needs to be told.
תגובות