Every day, I try to be honest.
If you ask me if I like your outfit, I’ll tell you if the color is flattering or not. If you want to know what I think of your music selection, I will either skip the song or tell you exactly which part had me hooked. If you approach me and ask me exactly what I think of you, I’ll either go on and on about how much I adore you or remind you exactly where you had me messed up and how that affected me. In fact, I sign almost every post on this site “With Love AND Honesty”because that’s what I try to give.
Every day, I try to be honest.
But for the past few months, I have not been honest with myself.
Granted, I write a blog that attempts to be honest and encourage women throughout their situations. I’m the blogger who’s going to look at your situation, put myself in it, and tell you what I would do. I’m going to call you out on your wrongs. I might even give you a read, depending on the topic. But what I’ve realized is that I was so able to be honest when it came to everyone else’s situation, but mute when it came to my own.
For months, I couldn’t write anything real. I couldn’t put anything together worth publishing because I knew it was BS, and I knew people didn’t deserve that. But, I was so afraid of digging into myself long enough to admit that I, too, have fallen short. I’ve doubted. I’ve backtracked. I’ve looked in the mirror long enough to make sure I had enough clothes on, but not long enough to admire myself in them. I’ve answered the texts, forced the conversations, and grown weary over boys who I knew from the moment they touched me that they couldn’t handle me.
“Why?” is a question that I’m still trying to piece with an answer. It’s a mixture of being tired of not having the attention that I wanted, along with refusing to not have total control in a situation, and, worst of all, wanting to be “loved” and “wanted” so desperately that I would take whatever was given to me and try to make it look like the best. I dressed up BS and tried to make it real. And it killed me.
Because I would not acknowledge my own issues and flaws in order to be better and grow from them, I became the person that I wrote about. I fell into the same traps that I told people not to get into. And because I knew it for a fact but was so petrified about what to do, I did nothing. I stopped writing. I stopped thinking. I tried to let God have His way, but forgot that the most important part was to let it go.
So here I am. A day into 2017. And I am weary. I am a little scared. I am a little bruised and shaken. To be real, I’m a little ashamed. But as I’m writing this, I feel better. I’m more content with the content that I’m creating because I know that this is coming from a place that I’ve been in, since it’s ME in it. And while this isn’t pretty yet, and it doesn’t claim victory yet, it is honest. And honest is something I needed to be anyway.
What does this mean for MeditatedMelanin? It means that, for a while, there will be less focus on post requests and advice. While I will still accept them, I would prefer questions like “How do YOU….” or “What are YOU…”, rather than “How do I…” or “What can I…”. It means that the next few posts are going to be based more on reflection, and on how I feel. As ugly, as painful and as strange as it may be, it’s going to be discussed. For a year I’ve told you about you; I think it’s time to tell you, and myself, about me.
More importantly, it means that MeditatedMelanin is going to get back to its roots and focus more on where it started: the blogs. The events are wonderful and the collaborations are great, but part of me was using that as a way to avoid really trying to get deep into how I felt and having to write about it. And while I gained fans, I lost readers. So I promise to be more consistent, deliberate and loyal to you as readers. You all have gotten me here, and I owe you that.
January 6th is MeditatedMelanin’s blogaversary. 13,000 views. 365 days. 61 posts. 3 events (and counting). Growth on amazing levels that I can only thank God for. But, now it’s time for me to grow as a writer and as a woman. Because I have always been honest, but now it’s time to be more honest with myself.