I wrote a great article the other day, poking another hole in the myth about us not having time to create and pursue our dreams.
I write about this particular topic over and over again, because I know this is one of your issues too. It’s the number one reason people give for not going for their dreams. I have no time. (Closely followed by I have no money.)
Regardless of our specific circumstances, whether we have no kids or five, whether we have a lot of money or none, whether we work three jobs or are stay at home parents, we all say the same thing. We have no time. If only I had time, I would ….
No, you probably wouldn’t. If you had some time to spare, you’d probably fill it with something else, like you have done this far. Like you’ll continue to do until the end of time, or until you get real with yourself.
Do you truly want what you say you want? Do you want it bad enough? If you do, there is time. You will have to give up on something else, for sure. Great dreams don’t come at bargain prices. It’s going to cost you, but if you’re willing to pay (the currency is commitment) there’s time to be had.
I was raped as a child. I was raped by my grandfather and later by my stepbrother.
This is the first time I write these words publically. I’ve written about being sexually abused before, but I’ve never written “by him and by him” and it still feels like breaking the rules to do so. I am breaking the rules. I’m spilling the secret these men left me to keep, and in doing so, I feel guilty. For exposing them, for making people uncomfortable, for claiming that my side of the story matters at all.
But it does matter.
And as I tell my story, just as it is, the part of me that has struggled to keep the secret can begin to relax. The more truthful I am, the less she has to guard. When it’s all out there, in the open, she can finally abandon her post and re-join life. No more hiding. No more protecting myself and others from the truth of me.
She’s exhausted. It has required all her strength to keep the shame and the dirt hidden from view. And she’s afraid. The fear that has pulsated through her veins – my veins – all these years doesn’t go away just like that.