blank space

Staring at the blank space. The blinking cursor. They’re taunting me:

“whatcha gonna write about, Katy??”

Not sure. Not entirely sure.

Over the course of the last three years I’ve realized something has gone missing. At first, I wasn’t sure what that was; wasn’t sure anything had really even been lost. Maybe I’d just misplaced ‘it’. What was ‘it’ again?

Me. It was me. I’d lost me.

And I don’t think I lost me all at once. I started building walls. I’ve been building them my whole life: to keep myself in, to keep others out. To keep those parts of myself that I wasn’t sure people would accept, could accept, hidden. I built more walls,and turrets and moats. I built an entire castle, and locked myself up in the tower. And before I knew it, I was lost. To myself, to others. We all forgot what Katy was really like, what kind of a person she was.

And then one day, very recently, I realized what I’d done. I realized I wasn’t loving living up high in that tower, safe from all the things I thought I wanted to be safe from. My life certainly looked perfect on paper, but I was trapped. Unable to escape, unable to be who I needed to be, unable to become. I needed to make myself vulnerable. I needed to be brave.

And I began tearing that tower down. Brick by brick. Stone by stone. The moat is drained, and the drawbridge into me is down. I’m choosing to let people in, choosing to allow others access to me. So long as they don’t take more than they’re given, don’t take more than I offer, we’re good.

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