I’ve been hiding. Habitually hiding, for so long that I didn’t realise I’d become invisible. Shrinking myself, shifting my shape so I could slot in here, slip by there. Smooth as an adder sliding through long grass. Unseen.
Well here I am again. Raising my hand in class. Speaking up. Feeling shaky, blood rushing to my head, face red. On the edge, of my seat, of the class, of my own sense of safety.
The edge is where the growth happens. The edge is where the tides change. The edge is liminal space, where anything could happen in the still space between the ceaseless longings of life for herself.
So here I am, and here this is, this strange thing called a ‘blog’. Because the words are rushing like a river through me these days, and because all the words clamour to be shared, to be shown. And because the little voice inside my head that tells me I’m boasting, I’m showing myself up, I’m showing off, that little voice is ebbing as I find my feet, a little late in life but hey, that’s a habit I’m not about to break.
An act of personal reclamation. An act of gratitude to the gift of a silver tongue.
Thank you for reading, for following.