I am not the best example of everything I have written about. I have not always lived in accordance with the words I have written.
I spoke of boundaries, yet I remained right where they were being pushed back every day. I wrote about responsibility, yet sometimes, like many others, I looked for an explanation as to why the fault wasn’t entirely mine. I advised people not to lose themselves, while at certain times I set my own peace of mind aside, convincing myself that this was the price I had to pay.
That is why I cannot say I am the best example of everything I have written about so far.
But I can say that none of those words came from the belief that I am better than others. I didn’t write them from the vantage point of someone who has mastered life, but from the experience of someone who has made many mistakes, betrayed their own convictions, and tried to understand why this happened to them.
Sometimes we write about what we’ve overcome. Sometimes about what still hurts us. And sometimes we write because we need to see our own truth right in front of us, in black and white, so we can no longer pretend we don’t know it.
I still make mistakes today.
I misjudge people. I stay silent when I should speak up. I say something that should have remained unsaid. I stay longer than I should, or I give up before I’ve tried one more time. I hurt someone even when that wasn’t my intention.
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