Writing has been difficult lately. Just writing in general. May it be here. In my journal. It has been a struggle. Not when writing has been an outlet for me since I was 10 years old. Not when writing is a form of healing.

Not long ago, someone came across my blog and said that I share too much personal things on the internet. It felt like someone dumped cold water on me. I knew that my posts could be personal, but I didn’t think them too personal. I made sure of that. And even if the posts fell on that lane, they were about me. I may have mentioned a name or two here and there, but there were no personal identifying features. Even then, I made sure the names cannot be traced back to them. Except my dogs. Those are their names.

This blog was not never meant to be anonymous by any means. But I do curate what I say just in case someone who knows me personally stumble upon it. But after that comment, every time I try to write something, I find myself questioning if what I have written was too personal.

My head, for quite a while, was plagued with questions. Where do I go from here? What happens when someone says that your life is too personal? What happens when I second-guess every sentence? What happens when writing, which is an activity that for the longest time has been therapeutic, an activity that has been second nature to me, becomes too restricted? Too censored?

To be honest, I still don’t have the answers, and quite frankly, I’m tired of looking for any. All I know is that heavily restricted writing is not something I feel good with. It makes me not want to write at all. And not writing is not healthy for me. So this is me wanting to take some power back. Erasing that comment from my head and taking my freedom back.

This is me just wanting to let the words flow a little bit and fall in love with writing again.