It took me a long time to accept my broken bits. The ones we talk about here but under the guise of anonymity. We’re protected. Nearing the end of my twenties now, I only started to say the words depression and anxiety out loud over the past two or three years. Saying them out loud made them real. Saying them out loud made me have to face their power head on. Before, I could just hide. I could just say that I was sick. I could just say I was tired. I didn’t have to face their power.
I learned after I said them, after I told my story, I was free. It didn’t mean that I didn’t have to feel their weightiness in my life anymore, that I will always feel, but it meant that I had the power. I learned how to accept and face that which I was feeling. I learned how to say out loud that shit was hard. That I wasn’t perfect. But I also learned that being brave feels so much better that perfect ever will. I learned how to be brave.
I am brave. So are you. In the moments of pure bravery, the darkness doesn’t have power.