Bravery.

I've done a lot of things in my life that some consider brave. But I never saw it that way. I just saw it as what I was doing.

I moved to different cities. I lived alone. I got a tattoo. I told told my grandmother to shove it.

I gave up my job to go back to school- a few times. I stopped talking to most of my family.

I got attacked and went back to work with offenders two days later. I continue to live at my crime scene.


I had back surgery in New York Winter and still traveled on the subway without a cane.

All of that seems like nothing compared to writing this. Because this is me unfiltered. And I have never done that before. I haven't told anyone most of this, and next to nobody has ever seen my writing. And it is hard to let it go out on its own and float. 

It's hard to float.

It's hard to let go, even though that seems like the easiest thing to do. 

It's hard to shed my skin and show my scars. It's hard to show I have them. But I think I have to do it so that I can move ahead and leave the stories of how they got there behind me. 


It's hard to feel that this is freeing. Even though it is. It's hard not to feel anxiety knowing this will be read, but the anxiety doesn't help anyway. It's hard to let go of this secret side of me. But great to know I no longer have these secrets.

I wonder if it is bravery or self indulgent. I pick bravery.