18 years ago, I was given life.

I was given a heart that loves, has been loved, aches, bruises, and gets pieced back together when torn apart.

I was given eyes that see things that hurt, things that mend, things that need the world’s attention, and things that just need God.

I was given arms and legs to move, to shake, to get things done, to do something…anything.

I was given a brain to really and truly think, think about the choices I have made, the the choices others make, to gain knowledge, to change things.

And I was given a voice…a voice that I thought I was using, but slowly I am realizing that I’m really not. But over the past few months, I have felt something inside of me change. The desire to speak up, to speak out, has found its way back into my heart.

But I wasn’t ready for that at first. I wasn’t ready for my voice to be heard, because to be really really honest with you, I was scared. What if I wasn’t good enough? What if my words were never going to be heard? What if I walked into the scary waters of writing, only to find out that I would sink instead of swim?

But life is not about living in fear, and I have been living in fear of my own voice for too long. 

I was given this voice for a reason, and I was given this desire in my heart to share it with the world for some purpose. Writing has never gone away in my life, instead remaining one of the only constants. Even when my life started having more twists than a game of Candy Land, I always had my words, all packed away in a little brown leather journal I’ve hidden for years.

But my ability to lay my heart down and show you what is inside. That is the thing that matters, not the fear to share. And maybe I will fail. Maybe I’m really not supposed to put my voice out there… but honey if I’m going down, I’m going down in flames.

Because in the end, we’re not meant to be vaults. We’re not meant to hide ourselves behind guarded doors. Our hearts are not meant to be caged in by our ribs, only protected. And don’t let the fear of getting hurt keep you from breaking out from behind that wall you’ve built. The wall is more harmful than you think–take it from someone who has kept one up for so long that cracks are beginning to form. But I don’t need to see those cracks to be reassured that the wall isn’t meant to be there: my heart, my voice has been crying for release for years now. And breaking down that wall… it’s easier than you think and it feels greater than you ever. could. imagine.

This is my heart. This is my voice. This is all of me.



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