I am not a blogger (Tidbit Thursday)

Really, I'm not. This isn't something I look forward to doing. My husband thinks that I'd be a natural at this blogging thing, yet it instills a fear into my heart like no other...except maybe public speaking and losing my children or husband. So if I'm so petrified of blogging, why is he convinced that it's something I could and should be doing and doing well?

Well my fair readers, I am a journaler, a writer at the heart of it. I'm not an artist, I never even liked to color. I love to tell a story though, any story. It's in my blood, it's so embedded in me to tell stories that I can't avoid doing it. Just ask my husband...I never shut up! In my scrapbooking, I've found a viable outlet for those stories. For the tales of my life, what makes me...me.

There are moments though, like this afternoon, where I wish I didn't feel a compulsion to tell the story. I sat here at my laptop and typed up some journaling that had me bawling. We're talking box-of-tissues-the-doorbell-better-not-ring-because-I'm-a-blubbering-mess sort of journaling.

I tweeted that my journaling had my in tears and got a couple responses about how they'd be there too. One response had me thinking about what I was doing though. I'll paraphrase the response for you:

When your authentic feelings hit the page. It is cause for celebrating those tears. They are who you are.

Pretty profound, eh? Well, I thought so. And that brings me to my point for this post. We are the story. Those feelings, those tears, those smiles, frustrations, laughs...they are us. Embrace that and know you're doing something wonderful for yourself and your loved ones.

Until next time!

Leila