Speaking truth – Lessons from 2024.

I’ve entered a season of speaking my truth. The lessons from 2024 were unavoidable and I’m using my voice to call out the bullshit. The racism, sexism, lies and fearmongering, the obvious propaganda used to distract us from our own oppression. Maybe it has something to do with turning 40, maybe it’s this new city new start, or maybe I am simply done contorting myself to fit into the picture of who I should be that no one bothered asking me to help create. 

I don’t intend to swing in like a wrecking ball, my words smashing through the status quo without discretion. Nope. I don’t live like that anymore. Rather now it’s a calmer energy I’m after, one that breathes truth into action and never feels the need to over-explain. I refuse to compromise who I am for the comfort of others. While that means I am unapologetically me, bold never means careless. Thoughtless. Or hurtful. The opposite. I am intensely aware of myself, my needs and wants, where some faint beginnings of a boundary glimmers when I squint, and so I am careful to use words with equal fervor and precision. 

Pain.

It’s not that my words will never hurt. Sometimes reality is a painful punch to the guts; calling it anything other robs us of empathy for the man doubled over, gasping for air. Moreover, using softening language is essentially the same as denying that such a gut punch occurred. By sugar coating my story, I invalidate my experience and miss the opportunity for empathetic connection and understanding with others. In other words, the hurt of truth is worth it.

Some lessons from 2024 were painful. Though I’m not planning on hurting anyone, I am absolutely speaking every bit of my truth. I want too badly for a better world. It feels a little narcissistic to think that my story will change anything but why else do we write? Because we have to. I have to tell the story that is swirling around inside, my mind, sentences spilling out in journals and sneaking into conversations. It’s one of strength and resilience, a story of privilege and questioning enoughness; by untangling the stories I’ve told myself, I want to tease out my truth and let it breathe. 

But isn’t that the story of being a woman? Feeling one way and told to act another. High heels, make-up, and being uncomfortable for someone else. The slow, gradual stripping of autonomy and sanity until one day she realizes she’s asking permission to feel…the gig is up. There is no changing a woman’s mind when she’s had enough. No matter what it is exactly she’s had enough with, when she says she wants to do life differently, believe her. 

The past few years of my life are a perfect example. My entire life the world said “be quiet, stay small, don’t laugh too loud or want too much.” I learned to be pleasant and agreeable, have standards but be sure to place them right, have goals but never too high, and have ideas but not really and only about others.

I was taught submission and self-sacrifice. But I am so much more than that. 

Pride.

In fact, just this month I have encompassed more than what we tell women they’re entitled to. I felt pride in my ability and I experienced unabashed pleasure; I even let both show. The sentence “no” crossed my lips without an over-explanation, then I let the time that saved be just for me. When I saw missed opportunities to do better, I spoke up. and shared my ideas without modest self-censure. I even went straight towards what I wanted – new for someone who feels like desire is a luxury reserved for those with some say in the matter. But here is precisely what’s changed. I have a say in the matter. Instead of squandering it away, I’m using this new freedom to create the life I want. 

So here I am, this new season, naked walking through the world wondering why I didn’t take it all off sooner. The fear feels less important. It’s still there, I’m sure it always will be, but no more than a hum in the background. The machine creating and profiting from fear is bigger than me. I won’t shut it down alone.

But there’s power in the naming. By pointing to this system that runs on fear, by giving it a name like “patriarchy,” or “white supremacy,” we learn to reject it. We reclaim power when we dream of something better. So, I’ll keep pointing and naming. Keep dreaming. But instead of a silent selfish escape, I’m dreaming loud enough for everyone to hear. Dreaming of a world where we are free to be beautiful individuals and where we want to be the powerful collective.

Keep going.

I’m finally publishing this and it’s January 2025. Already the lessons from 2024 loom heavy overhead. I don’t yet know where all of this will take me but after a year of finding my footing, I am ready to find out.

It’s about more than the freedom from addiction, it’s about what we do with the relief. I intend for this space to grow and change as I do. To expand as I learn and experience, to course-correct with curiosity and grace.

Though this moment is for me. A commitment to myself not made in private but one that I ask you to encourage. I want to write my story, here, and share more than the lessons from 2024. I want to show you where I’ve been and maybe, somewhere along the way, we’ll discover where I am going.

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