I probably shouldn’t be doing this.

I probably should save all these words for myself, but something inside me says even though they are bitter, ugly truths, sometimes we need those.

I probably shouldn’t have sat on my couch reading in the silence while the room around me turned dark.

I probably shouldn’t have made the decision to sit on my kitchen floor and stare at my laptop as if it’s holding a piece of me like a scratcher ticket with a truth about myself I’m not capable of bringing to the surface.

I probably shouldn’t have tears in my eyes from not having said anything.

Lately I feel like all the ghosts of my life are hanging around. All the words people have said to me, the actions that showed I was insignificant.

All the times I wasn’t chosen.

They’ve all been here.

And the only thing I’ve been able to do is shut them out. Plug my ears and run.

I found things and ways to shake them off, to numb whatever they are.

Almost a year ago I got diagnosed with Bell’s Palsy. My face stopped working, my body stopped working, and I was so undeniably lost.

The only thing that kept me moving were the people who were in my corner. The only thing that truly kept me going forward was their belief and love for me.

Since August 20^th I’ve been dealing with this thing, this inability to feel normal that has drug up all the ghosts that live in my past.

When I was really young I wrote a card to my Grandma Reeve, my Kansas Grandma. The one I never really saw. I remember in the card telling her that I wasn’t normal. I never felt normal as a kid. I was a loner, I was overweight, wore glasses and had a funny sounding voice that people couldn’t understand and made fun of.

She proceeding to write me back saying she didn’t want a normal grandchild and that she loved me how I was.

But, each time I got made fun of, each time someone responded to me trying to talk with a “wawawawa” like they couldn’t understand me. I would fade away again.

It was easier for me to be silent.

When I was in second grade I will never forget my teacher telling my mom that they needed to figure out my voice. That I would never get anywhere with it.

It was easier for me to be silent.

That’s been a voice that’s come back in full force this year.

It’s easier for me to be silent.

Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m stubborn and I’ve not been silent. I’ve yelled back in the face of the thing that tells me I should be silent and for the most part, to the best of my ability shown up.

But, tonight sitting on this kitchen floor, I’m realizing how much those ghosts have reappeared in more ways than I can even compute.

And for every time I’ve shown up, there is another where I’ve stepped away with the feeling that it’s easier for me to be silent.

When my world spun last year for 3 weeks I didn’t know if I’d ever find balance again, in all honesty, I don’t know if I have.

I don’t want to write these next words because I know they aren’t true. I do know that- but I think I need to face them on a screen: I don’t know if it isn’t easier if I’m silent.

I don’t know if I’m strong enough anymore to be stubborn enough to push the lies down.

This past year has been harder than I have even had the words to communicate. And even with all reassurance that people don’t notice what my face is doing: I do. I feel at a loss, off balance and unable to be who I am in ways I know how.

I spent the last 10 years building a confidence in myself that I hadn’t ever had before.

I started to know who I was, what I was about and I liked myself for it.

But then it was like the world played a uno reverse on me and suddenly I was going backwards.

And all I see are the ghosts of the things that used to haunt me.

So, tonight sitting on my kitchen floor I’m going to tell those ghosts that I see them.

They won’t have space to follow me anymore.

And even though I don’t fully believe those words: I have to say them anyway.

This is usually where I’d tag a note, something to say hey we’re here. We’re together.

But I think sometimes, we have to get rid of the ghosties by ourselves.

And that’s ok.

With love,

Meg