This is a photo of a lovely plant. I like plants. They are calming and pretty and happy. On an average day I might post this photo on Instagram with a cliche caption.

But what you don’t know is that I took it at a hospital where I’m in a therapy program to help my chronic fatigue, pain, and anxiety. A very expensive program that I really hope works because my husband and I really don’t have the money for it. It is the main reason I cancelled our 1 year anniversary photos.

There’s so much more than what meets the surface.

I try on many different hats. I’m still figuring out who I am. And I’m learning to be ok with that. My blog has already morphed many times. And it is continuing to morph. My Instagram colors are different every week. My career changes almost as often. I’m constantly trying new things and experiences until something sticks. Musician. Florist. Blogger. All parts of me…but the identity never sticks. I tried being a lifestyle blogger and it is just not me. I’ll probably keep blogging about my life and style …but I’m taking the pressure off myself to be one of the full timers and pros. My blog isn’t going to have a consistent brand identity.  It isn’t going to make sense. It will be as haphazard and contradictory as my own soul. Some days I’ll post about an ice cream recipe I made with some pictures I’m really proud of and 6 of you will read the blog post. The next day I might share about my struggle with depression. Or my experience at a conference. Or an interview with a creative person I admire.

I guess what I’m saying is: I have heard over and over how important it is to be consistent. But I’m such a complex person I can’t just limit myself. If I share only my deep thoughts and feelings OR only share my pretty styled photos I’m neglecting another important part of me. Instead of being a blogger as a career I am switching goals. This blog and feed are my journey and an eclectic collection of my passions. I might post 6 times one week and then not again for a month. I have been chasing followers and “success” – but it’s not making me happy. Instead I’m going to start being true to myself and brave enough to share what I really feel and think. Brave enough to lose followers. Brave enough to accept that I’m a very enthusiastic person and a very intense and brutally honest person at the same time.

If this doesn’t resonate with you, that’s ok. If you want to follow a blog that is about DIYs and pretty photos I don’t blame you. I follow many of those myself. But even though I’m artistic and could become that, it’s not my most authentic self.

And honestly, as much as I love design, beautiful photos, and consistent feeds…I’m getting worn out from the shallowness of it all. Shallow does not equal bad. But in my world, shallow = exhausting. I like to think of it like a diet. Some people need lots of protein, others need lots of carbs. I need lots of protein and the perfectly styled photos are candy that is giving me a stomach ache.

Some people aren’t comfortable sharing their hearts with the world. And I respect that. But as a person, the identity I cling to most is that of a writer. I think and feel deeply. I’m a deep person, more complicated and messed up than most. I’m intuitive and I care too much. I cry too easily and I try too hard. I have extremely high highs and incredibly low lows. I ask the questions you aren’t supposed to ask. I cannot just accept things. And I need depth and passion or my soul dies. 

Many of you probably don’t relate. And that’s ok. But I know some of you do. And so, to feed my own soul and to feed my kindred spirits I’m going to chase authenticity. Not the buzzword, always positive feel-good kind that’s so popular at the moment (and that is often necessary and helpful and that I’ve often jumped on the bandwagon with)….the deep gritty kind. The one that made Hemingway say “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” I need to bleed. I’ll make a horocrux of sorts as parts of me die and are reborn in the words I write.

I always feel this urge to save people. To end on a hopeful note. To say I feel like shit but everything will be ok. But sometimes the most honest thing is to not force the silver lining. To let it reveal itself in time. To let people feel uncomfortable. To realize I am not my readers’ savior. To give them hope when it is genuinely flowing from my soul. And to show them the dirt and grime without trying to eclipse it with a flying unicorn.

To accept what I feel without  judgement. To be unapologetically vulnerable and honest.

Because of my physical and emotional illnesses I’m often too tired to. It’s easier to be fake and follow the formula that makes people like you. But this life is short and I don’t want to waste it trying to gain people’s approval. I want to be real. Over time the buildup of passion becomes so strong I have to have an outlet. Sometimes it is talking with my husband or a friend. But I get the most relief when I write. The need comes in bursts. Actually, I have the need quite often but repress it until it becomes a burden so heavy I must wait no longer. I’m sure you writers can relate. I’ll probably keep posting pretty photos that might give you an unrealistic picture of my messy life. But then, one day out of the blue, I won’t be able to ignore the need to spill my thoughts. I’ll write something that is a hot coal burning in the pit of my stomach, the thing that I just can’t keep inside anymore. And if you’re willing to take the journey with me, I would be honored to share my soul with you.