love and journals

I used to keep a journal, before I started this whole blogging thing.
What was different about my journal was that it wasn’t supposed to be read.
But I think maybe I hoped someone would read it anyways.
I wrote in fear
And also with a little bit of hope..
That someone. Anyone. Would read it.
And that I would be known.
Really known.
And I hoped that that someone. Anyone would want to keep reading.
And still want to know me more.
And still want to be my friend afterwards.
And they would learn all the things about me that I was afraid to say. Outloud.
Because saying something outloud makes it real.

And this blog isn’t my journal.
But it is still pretty outloud.
And personal.
And I go places that I have a hard time going in person.
And sometimes someone will mention reading it.
And I suddenly feel naked.
Like they just read my journal without my permission.
Even though I post it on the internet for the whole wide world to read.
Known. and vulnerable and exposed.

But being known means you can be rejected.
Not just this persona that you put on.
Or the work you.
Or the church you.
Or the funny you.
Or the stressed out you.
But the real you.
All of you.
And that is a very hard thing to recover from.
So usually we hide it and shield it and protect it. Fiercely.
And this thing that we desperately want isn’t so much to be known.
But to be known.
Really known.
And loved anyways.