I can tell because I’m worrying about what anybody who’s reading this is thinking of me. (That doesn’t include any members of my family who have checked it out.) I hate the second-guessing that happens when I write something especially real–that’s kind of a downer, when you’re trying to write about your own life.
Since this narrative is about rewriting the narrative of my life and the lies that have hurt me and hindered my growth, I think adding this essay to what I’ve already written makes perfect sense.
I’m rewriting the narrative of fear controlling my life, including who I am as a writer. Everything inside me screams “Rebel!” and I’m saying, “You’re damn right I’m a rebel. I’m tired of you controlling everything I do. You’re welcome to hang around, because there are some things I need to be scared of. But when I’m writing, I need you to sit right over there in that chair. If you mumble things under your breath, I won’t hear you because I’ve got earplugs in my ears. If you try to grab my hands and keep me from typing, I might just break your hands. (OK, maybe I won’t get violent, but I guess we’ll see what happens if you try it.)
If I can learn to write without you controlling me, I can learn to do other things without you taking charge. My life will be much less boring without you in charge. It will be more confusing, yes, because I’ll have more options. But having more options is a very good thing.
May God be in charge of my writing, my living, and my life.